“Temujin, send this woman hence. We would talk with thee.” Bortei was infuriated at this assault. She turned upon Houlun and Kurelen, all her naked hatred, and all the years of smothered resentment, in her face.
“If Jamuga Sechen hath been a traitor to our lord, and is punished, ye two should be punished also! For always ye did say that he was no traitor, and were always protecting him against just wrath.”
Houlun looked at her with cold dignity and scorn. “I still say, he is no traitor. Leave us, woman. I command thee.”
But Bortei looked at Temujin, smiling triumphantly.
Then, for the first time, he pretended to be aware of them. “Ah,” he said, thoughtfully, laying down his sword. He even smiled slightly, and Kurelen, with renewed hope, saw how strained were his features, in spite of his calm, and how feverishly bright his eyes. He turned to his wife, and said goodnaturedly: “Leave us, Bortei.”
She was aghast and outraged. She pointed her finger at the old man and woman. “But these are traitors, my lord! They come to plead the cause of a traitor!”
Kurelen smiled a little. But Houlun’s glance at Bortei was full of fiery contempt. She said nothing.
Temujin put his hand on his wife’s shoulder, and gave her a rough push. “Leave us, Bortei,” he repeated.
She burst into tears of rage and frustration. She looked pleadingly at Temujin, but something in his face quelled her. She left the yurt, giving Houlun a vicious but triumphant glance as she passed her.
That glance amused Houlun, and her stony features relaxed into a fleeting smile. Then her stern expression settled again on her face, and she gazed at her son like a haughty priestess about to utter words of condemnation.
“Thou goest to murder thine anda?” she asked brutally.
Temujin regarded her reflectively, and his mouth took on an inimical aspect.
“Once he did imprison thee for talking too much,” he said. Suddenly he laughed shortly, and loudly, and turned from her.
Houlun flushed, but she said steadfastly: “Thou goest to murder him?”
Temujin looked at her idly, over his shoulder. “Subodai, and some of his warriors, go to seize him. They shall bring him here.”
“Thou art not going?” asked Kurelen, in surprise.
“Nay. If I went, it would confer importance upon the traitor. He will be brought here for judgment, as an insignificant but venomous prisoner.”
Relief filled Kurelen. Seeing this, Temujin smiled malignantly. He said:
“He was never my friend. He violated the most sacred oath which men can swear. Nevertheless, I shall be merciful to him.” He paused, and the malignant smile widened. “I shall give him two choices: to die either by strangling, or by fire.”
The old man and woman paled until they were ghastly with horror. Houlun burst into tears, not of weakness, but of proud despair and bitterness.
“It is not less than I expected of thee,” she said in a low voice.
But Kurelen saw that taunts would not move Temujin. He approached his nephew; he laid his hand on the rigid and repudiating arm. He said gently:
“Temujin, thou knowest in thy heart Jamuga is no traitor. He saved thy life twice. Ye did both sleep under the same blanket. He was thine only friend. If he criticized thee, because of the burning of his bowels, it was because he is a virtuous man, and a narrow one. He knoweth no compromise. He wished thee to fill out the lofty pattern he had designed for thee, without pettiness or cruelty or violence. If he were wrong to have such a pattern, it is his judgment which is at fault, not his loyalty.”
Temujin listened. His eyes fixed themselves inscrutably on his uncle’s face. He began to speak quietly:
“These are ominous times, mine uncle. I owe thee no explanation, but I will give thee one: because of the danger to us all, no traitor, or one who doth utter traitorous things, must survive. Otherwise, we are weakened. Terror must be stricken to the heart of every potential traitor, for the sake of unity and strength.” He paused a moment, then added in a softer voice: “I have no personal enmity towards Jamuga. Necessity alone impels me.”
Kurelen was silent. He searched Temujin’s face for a long moment. Then he said, almost with compassion:
“Thou art sorely wounded. It is a personal revenge which thou dost seek, feeling thyself violated, and thy love for Jamuga made a mockery. Oh, my nephew, have mercy on this unfortunate man! Bring him here; temporarily imprison him for indiscretion. If thou dost not, if thou dost murder him, never more shall peace come unto thee, no, not even if thou dost gain the world.”
But a ruthless and inexorable look made Temujin’s eyes take on the appearance of polished blue-gray stone. He smiled almost pityingly at his uncle.
“I have said: I dare not spare him. Leniency will only give potential traitors boldness.”
Houlun had listened to all this, breathing heavily. Then she could no longer control herself. She cried out, fiercely: “Thou art a hypocrite! Murder is a joy to thee! Thou didst murder thy brother, Bektor, and now thou wilt murder Jamuga! Thou art no man; thou art a foul beast!”
Temujin ignored her. He said to his uncle, quietly: “Thou dost see? I must do this thing.”
Despairing, Kurelen meditated. Then he asked: “And Jamuga’s people?”
Without emotion, Temujin answered: “I have given orders to Subodai that none are to be spared among the men, either young or old. No child is to be spared who is taller than a cart wheel, and no old woman. The young women, and the very small children, shall be brought here, with Jamuga.”
Kurelen stared at him, disbelieving. A horrible sickness seized upon his vitals. He stammered: “But this is not thy usual custom. Thou didst formerly absorb conquered people into thy clan—”
Temujin shook his head. “Not these. They are all traitors. Moreover, they are soft. I cannot have them amongst us, spreading disaffection, and hindering our movements.”
A momentary darkness passed over Kurelen’s vision. Through it, he heard Houlun’s wild cries and bitter reproaches and epithets. He struggled to regain himself, feeling that he must momentarily collapse.
“Thou canst not do this,” he whispered.
Temujin shrugged. He picked up his saber again, ran his finger delicately along its glittering edge. Then he looked at his uncle blandly:
“Please leave me. I have much to consider, and much to plan. I am weary.”
Then Kurelen, knowing all was lost, began to speak in a subdued and meditative voice:
“The guilt is also mine. I imbued thee, from thy childhood, with a mocking contempt for gentleness, and laughed lightly at honor which would impose a burden. I said all things were justified in the name of expediency, that men who considered were weaklings, and exigency was the mark of a strong man. I was a fool. Because I was impotent, I admired the potency of ruthless men. Because mine arm was feeble, I expressed contempt for the defenseless, and exalted brutality. The frail and sickly man, the dwindled eunuch, is always the exponent of cruelty and ruthlessness. It is he who doth create tyrants and murderers. It is the man without loins who doth loudly sing of the virile. It is the man without courage who doth put a sword in the hand of the merciless.”
Temujin listened to that slow, almost droning voice. His lips jerked; he smiled, as though with intense amusement.
Kurelen lifted his sunken eyes to Temujin’s face, and there was a spark in them, like sudden fire.
“I sought a revenge on the world which had denied me strength and manhood. I have gained it. And through my gain, Jamuga Sechen must die.”
He trembled violently. Then, all at once, he flung himself upon his knees and seized Temujin about his legs with his twisted arms.
“Temujin! I have never asked anything of thee. I ask thee now, to give me Jamuga’s life!”
Temujin looked down at him. He was amazed. He saw the huddled and contorted form of the old cripple at his feet; he saw the dark and misshapen face, with its long beaklike nose and winglike eyebrows. But more than a
nything else, he saw, with profound astonishment, that there were tears in his eyes. Houlun, too, gazed at her brother, and as she did so, she felt that her heart had melted into streams of blood, and was draining from her body.
Perhaps Temujin was touched. In any event, his voice was almost gentle when he said: “Kurelen, ask me anything else, and it is thine.”
Kurelen tightened his frenzied grasp on the other man’s knees. “No!” he cried, “I want only this! And I shall not release thee until thou dost promise!”
Temujin seized him; he dragged him to his feet. His face had become dark with violence. “Thou fool!” he exclaimed. He shook the old man savagely. “Get thee hence! I have wasted time in listening to thy nonsense. Get thee hence, lest I do thee a mischief!”
He flung Kurelen from him. The old cripple staggered. He threw out his arms, and churned the air with grotesque swimming gestures, in order to regain his balance. His face took on a ludicrous expression of intense concentration. Houlun tried to seize him, to save him, but his momentum tore him from her grasp, sent him spinning, his feet pounding on the floor. He whirled, finally, and fell backwards, abruptly. As he collapsed, the back of his head struck the edge of a teakwood chest, and his head was thrown forward sharply on his chest. And then he lay still, in that twisted position, motionless, sprawled out like a boneless heap of clothes, his eyes, horribly rolled up, fixed upon Temujin.
Houlun, after a long and dreadful silence, wherein she and her son stared, mesmerized, at Kurelen, uttered a series of high piercing screams. She flung herself beside her brother. She lifted his head; blood poured over her hands. Her screams abruptly ceased. She gazed into the dead and distended eyes. Then her cries were renewed. She pressed her brother’s head to her breast, and her flesh became wet with his blood. She seized his hands; she pressed them to her lips, and kissed them with abandoned passion. She kissed his hair, his cheek, his cooling and fallen lips. Her long gray-black hair fell over him, mercifully hiding the horror of his look, and his eyes. She seemed to become mad. She cradled him in her arms; she moaned, she rocked on her haunches, she gave vent to strange and mournful words:
“My beloved! My heart’s darling! Who have I loved but thee? Who hath been part of my flesh, part of my soul? Only thou, my beloved, only thou! Speak to me; tell me again that thou dost love me, my brother, my lover, my dearest one!”
And Temujin stood like a statue, watching this dreadful scene, hearing the words of his crazed mother, listening to her cries. Her crooning and passionate voice filled his ears. She was a woman whose lover had been murdered; she was a mother mourning wildly over her dead son. She was all grief and all despair, all that had ever loved and ever lost. Temujin closed his eyes on a spasm. The moaning, love-filled, mad voice seemed to invade his brain. It was more than he could endure.
He went out into the cold blue air of the day. His legs turned to water. A swimming sickness made everything dim before him. His heart lunged in his chest.
He found his way to Kokchu’s yurt.
He spoke hoarsely and falteringly:
“Mine uncle, Kurelen, was in my yurt, and he was taken with a fainting spell, and did fall and crush his skull. Go thou to him, and to my mother, who needeth thee.”
Kokchu, who had been reclining on his couch, being fanned by his favorite young dancing girl, slowly rose. He stared at Temujin. He saw that gloomy, blue-lined face, those savage eyes. He saw how the khan was trembling, and that there was a drop of blood on his bitten lower lip.
“I go,” he said, in a voice of silken compassion. He picked up his small silver box of amulets. But still, his curious gaze fixed itself on Temujin.
And then, all at once, the crafty priest knew everything. A malevolent light flashed across his face. But he bowed his head with an affectation of sorrow and humility, and went to obey Temujin’s command.
He found Houlun lying prostrate, unconscious, across the body of her brother, and stained with his blood. When they tried to disengage her arms, they were like stone. They carried her to her yurt, and gave her to the care of her women.
When she recovered consciousness, at midnight, they saw, with horror, that she was hopelessly mad. She raved, screamed, laughed incessantly, struggling with her women, who tried to hold her down upon her couch. All through that night, the city of tents resounded with her cries, and the women shuddered and held their children to them.
At dawn, overcome with exhaustion, she became quiet, and seemed to sleep. But when her women, thankful and prostrated with weariness, went to cover her with her furs, they saw that she was dead.
Chapter 19
Jamuga called all the men of his clan to him, the old and the young. He looked at them with pale and sorrowful love, and, seeing this, they knew that he was greatly disturbed. They looked back at him, trying to reassure him with their resolute expressions.
He told them of Temujin’s command, and his own answer. And then he waited, gazing at them with imploring anxiety. Alarm, anxiety, courage, bewilderment and apprehension ran over their faces. They murmured to each other. And Jamuga still waited, openly wringing his hands.
Then an old man voiced the thoughts of the others:
“Lord, thou hast done the only thing thou couldst have done, and thy people honor and love thee for it.”
Jamuga smiled. Tears filled his eyes.
“I thank ye all,” he said, humbly. He took comfort from their smiles. They crowded about him, like a wall of flesh, timidly and awkwardly touched him, to impart their own virtue to him.
Then he spoke again, and this time with increasing and despairing sadness:
“Once an old man told me that it took more than a mere disgusted convulsion of the belly to save the world. I did not believe him. I thought there was sufficient defense in a people which willed peace, and loved peace. I thought if a people were good, and committed to the ways of friendship and tranquillity, and sought no quarrels, nothing evil would threaten them, and they would need no arms nor training in the arts of war. If they regarded their neighbors with benevolence, I thought, and treated these neighbors with justice and honor and mercy, these neighbors would never assault them, but would leave them in peace. A man who sought no war or conquest, who was content, was a man who would remain unmenaced. He needed only to attend to his own household and his own flocks, to turn aside lustful eyes, and to be forgotten, he needed only to mind his own business.”
He sighed mournfully. “I was wrong, my brothers. I see now that peace must be defended as resolutely as any other treasure. The answer to tyrants is an army stronger than theirs. To remain safe from attack, it is first necessary to become too strong for attack. Sometimes, to bring peace to the earth, men must fight to the death. To establish justice and liberty and tranquillity, men must sometimes take up arms to the very end, and give up their lives for their children’s security.
“In my dreaming folly, I did not know this. If we desired peace, that was sufficient: we would have peace. Because I have believed this, I have exposed you to grave danger. I have given you up, defenseless, to the enemy. I have destroyed peace, because I hated the sword. I have exposed your wives and your children to the prospect of death or slavery. I am your real foe; I am your guilty betrayer.”
He stood before them, and wept.
“I have deprived ye of the means of defending your homes and your pastures. I have filled your hearts with softness, and deprived you of the knowledge of the ways of war. Therefore, we are a fat worm, defenseless, awaiting the beak of the vulture.”
The old man, who was the spokesman, knelt before Jamuga, and lifted his hands.
“Nevertheless, lord, we are willing to fight for peace now.”
Jamuga laid his hand on his shoulder.
“Nay,” he said sadly, “it is too late. With what will ye fight? With your bare hands, accustomed only to the plow? Will ye expose your defenseless breasts, unavailingly, to the swords of the avenging enemy? Do you think all your courage is sufficient to protect you from
the trained and bloodthirsty hordes of the approaching foe? A man may have the courage of a tiger, and the fearlessness of a falcon, and they will avail him nothing if he hath no arms.”
He looked at them and cried: “I shall not sacrifice you! I shall not see you slaughtered like defenseless cattle! I shall not urge you to a struggle which can result only in your death and agony!”
“We have no defense. Surrender is our only choice. It is too late for anything else. Today, my spies tell me that Temujin is sending a vast and murderous horde to destroy us. If we resist, with our naked hands, we shall all be slain. If we surrender, they will spare you, for Temujin’s first wish is always to absorb the conquered, in order to make himself the more strong. We can do nothing else but submit.”
He raised his voice and cried out with anguish: “Surrender is always the necessity of those who cannot defend themselves. Slavery is always the lot of the man who hath not valued peace enough to prepare to fight for it!”
The men listened, and paled. They could not speak. They glanced fearfully at the horizon, from whence would come the avenging hordes of Temujin.
Then the old man spoke once more:
“And what of thee, lord?”
Jamuga smiled drearily. “I shall ride forth, today, to meet the army of Temujin. I shall surrender, before they come here. Then all of you will be saved from death, and not one unavailing blow will be struck.”
The old man asked: “And what guarantee have we that they will spare thee?”
At this, the other men burst out into a loud cry of agreement.
“If the guarantee is not given, we shall not surrender! We shall fight, if only with our bare hands!”
Jamuga was alarmed. He knew Temujin, and realized that he could expect no mercy from a man who would never forgive opposition or rebellion. But if his people knew this, then they would die for him, and be slaughtered to the last man. So he said, trying to smile lightly:
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