The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  Temujin uttered a stunned cry at the sight of this lake. Jamuga murmured. Subodai sat on his horse and gazed in silence. But Yesukai looked upon the water without perturbation.

  “It cannot be!” exclaimed Temujin. He inhaled a deep breath, but the acrid and burning air was not filled with the fresh smell of water.

  Yesukai nodded. “It is not, in truth,” he said. “It is but a desert mirage, a dream. But it doth appear at every sunset like this, in this very place, unchanging, and men call it the Lake of the Damned, for many have lost their lives seeking to approach it. When it is full day, and the sun is high in the sky, there is nothing there but a whitish plain, strewn with greenish stones. The old wise men say that once on a time, many ages ago, a lake did verily lie there, in a fertile land filled with the clamor of cities and the comings and goings of a vast populace. This is but the specter of that lake, an evil illusion, leading men to death.”

  The youths fell into deeper silence as they gazed upon the lake, which moment by moment enhanced its aspect of an unearthly dream. A sensation of dim horror seized them. Temujin felt an irresistible urge to ride down to it. His whole soul was pervaded with that urge, which had in it a kind of terror. He looked at the low pyramids of purple stone scattered about the margins. One was the shape of a temple, and the broken pillars of it were vividly discernible. Temujin shook his head. His heart was beating violently, and in that deathlike silence he could hear the throbbing sound of it.

  Suddenly the reserved Jamuga cried out in the loud and echoing voice of fear: “Let us go on!” And without waiting for a reply, he spurred his horse so fiercely that it reared back on its haunches, and then plunged ahead. Temujin began to laugh, as did Yesukai. They followed Jamuga. When they had gone a little distance, they missed Subodai. They saw him, a black silhouette against the red sky, watching the lake. He was like a statue carved of ebony, motionless on his horse. They shouted to him. It was not until they had shouted several times that he seemed to hear, and then he followed them in a tranquil canter. When he came up to them, they saw that his face had taken on itself something of the weird and dreamlike quality of the accursed lake.

  The burning sky rapidly paled and faded, and almost in a twinkling the desert night had fallen. They camped as soon as the last rays had gone.

  That night, as he lay wrapped in his furs and felts near the campfire, Temujin had a strange and preternatural dream. He dreamt that he and Jamuga were sitting on their horses near the margin of the Lake of the Damned. It had a terrible fascination for him; he could not take his eyes from it. He was conscious of a wild exultation in him, and he could feel the hot sweat pouring down his back and face. But when he looked at Jamuga, it was as though he looked at a dead and suffering face. Jamuga’s eyes were distended, and filled with an anguished light. He pointed at the lake. His lips moved, and though Temujin could hear no sound, he knew that Jamuga was warning him, solemnly and with agony.

  And then as Temujin, bewildered, watched, Jamuga opened his coat and revealed his breast. There was a bleeding wound in it, ghastly to see, and in its spongy depths he could see Jamuga’s heart, beating and dying, spouting thick red fountains of blood.

  Chapter 14

  But the next day the lake and the dream were forgotten, for the desert floor was like cracked sheets of pure gold in the sun, and the broken hills and ramparts and temples and pillars shimmered with the color of delicate jade against a sky of bright pearl. The unceasing wind, brilliant and strong, blew like waves over the rubble on the floor of the desert, which appeared formed of fragments of polished brass. The young men raced, shouting, ahead of Yesukai, circled back, cracking whips and spurring their horses, leaping over boulders, rearing and swinging about, their voices echoing back from the sides of the cliff and hill.

  At noon it was so hot that they were forced to find shelter against the flank of a bleached natural wall, which resembled the enormous skeleton backbone of some prehistoric monster. Now the sky was an arch of pulsing and burning blue flame against which the shattered hills in the distance had turned a fiery bronze, and the desert floor was the color of crumbled topaz. The place where they rested was a little cauldron-shaped valley, scattered with dry jade-green tufts. A fierce white glare lay over everything, so that all things made the eye water with the unbearable brilliance. The horses stood with their heads below their knees, panting, while the Mongols covered everything but their eyes with the folds of their hoods. Temujin, stunned by the heat, languidly watched desert scorpions and lizards creeping from the shelter of one small stone to another, their sharp black shadows crawling with them. Nothing else moved in that blazing and petrified world of rock and sun and desert.

  Then all at once, in that merciless inferno, a tiny figure on horseback appeared, a mere black fly in the glare, creeping carefully across the yellow floor of the desert. Yesukai and the youths became alert, feeling for their daggers and their bow-cases. The horses lifted their heads and whinnied. The men sat with their backs against the crumbling cream-colored ribs of the wall, and waited. In the sunlight, Temujin’s eyes were the hue of lighted emeralds.

  It took a long time for the horseman to approach them, for distances are deceptive on the desert. Shadows were longer when he finally rode down into the cauldron. When he saw the waiting men, he reined in his horse and regarded them intently. He was an old man, dry and brown, with a cunning face like that of an aged monkey. Under the drooping edge of his hood his eyes gazed out at them, bright and crafty. In the lines of his wrinkled face the sweat ran like trickles of water. He smiled.

  “I give thee greetings, brothers,” he said courteously. He looked from one to the other, and finally his look fastened closely on Temujin, and remained there. He added: “I am Dai Sechen.”

  Yesukai and the youths rose, and answered the old man with equal courtesy. “I,” said Yesukai, “am khan of the Yakka Mongols. This is my son, Temujin, for whom I am about to secure a bride from the clan of Olhonod, his mother’s people. And this is Subodai, of the reindeer people, whose father is now a member of my tribe. And this is Chepe Noyon, whose father belonged to a hostile clan, but who now serves me.” He put his hand on the shoulder of Chepe Noyon, and smiled with affection. “None is braver than Chepe Noyon, not even his father. He, himself, alone, raided Gutchluk of Black Cathay and stole a vast drove of white-nosed horses, which he presented to me as a gift and a token of reconciliation. And this is Jamuga, the anda of my son.”

  But Dai Sechen, though he smiled politely in acknowledgment of Yesukai’s introductions to Subodai and Jamuga and Chepe Noyon, continued to regard Temujin intently. Finally he said:

  “Eyes like fierce green stone hath thy son, and a face like the sky at noon. Last night I had a vision of a white hawk descending from heaven, carrying the sun and the moon. He stood before me, brighter than day, and his eyes were the eyes of Temujin. And then, as my daughter, Bortei, emerged from the yurt, the hawk flew unto her and perched on her hand. Brother-in-law, my tribe is not hostile to thine. Bring thy son to my ordu and let him gaze on my daughter, who is fairer than any other maiden.”

  Yesukai hesitated. But Temujin said eagerly: “It will do no harm to look upon the girl, and we can rest overnight at the least.”

  Seeing Yesukai’s hesitation, Dai Sechen went on: “It is an omen. The gods have sent thy son in my path. I am something of a conjurer, for my uncles were shamans. Thy son shall reign over many peoples and many ordus.”

  Yesukai, the superstitious, was not able to resist this flattery. So they accompanied Dai Sechen as soon as the sun sloped in a flaming arc to the west. They arrived at a large but weedy oasis about which a tent village of over twenty thousand yurts was gathered. Dai Sechen led them to his yurt through a crowd of curious women and children and yapping dogs. Hearing the dogs, Temujin’s face paled and the corners of his lips shook. Subodai, who never laughed at his friend’s fear, rode protectingly beside him, lashing his whip at the curs, while Chepe Noyon ridiculed him gayly.

 
The five guests were received with great cordiality by the warriors. Water in silver basins was brought to them to lave their burning hands and faces. A great feast was summoned. When the night had fallen and the campfires were roaring high, Dai Sechen took Temujin by the hand and led him to the yurt where lived his first wife and her only child, Bortei the Fair. He called the women, and they came out slowly, dressed in soft cream-hued robes of wool. About Bortei’s waist was a twisted silver serpent, with eyes of red stones. Over her shoulders lay a magnificent sable cloak, her betrothal gift from her father.

  Temujin was followed by his father and his friends. But when he saw Bortei no one else existed for him in all the world. He saw a small girl, hardly more than a child, with a little straight nose and slender arms. But slight of stature though she was, she was surrounded with an aura of ineffable and unshakable dignity and pride. Her small head, with its falling masses of dark burnished hair, was held as high as though she were the daughter of an emperor instead of the child of a shaggy baghatur of the lonely steppes. Her eyes, large and quiet, were gray as winter wind and as cold, and set in black silken lashes so thick that they cast a shadow on her cheek. In her smooth pale face her mouth bloomed as suddenly as a red flower, giving to her expression a look of passion, for all its aloofness. Temujin could see her small rounded breast, the virginal swell of her hip, under the creamy robe.

  Dai Sechen’s wife bent her head very low in greeting to the visitors, but Bortei looked straightly and coolly into Temujin’s eyes. It seemed to him that a flame ran over his body, invading his blood, consuming his bones. He felt that his heart had become enormous in his breast, and thick. It was beating so violently that he was certain that its pulsing was visible in his throat and temples. His knees trembled under him. He was seized with a sensation of joy and rapture, of hunger and desire and passionate yearning. When the girl’s red lips parted, and she gave him a distant and faintly disdainful smile, he wanted to seize her in his arms and force his mouth furiously upon her own.

  Dai Sechen, smiling his cunning smile at the evidences of the young man’s overwhelmed emotion, took his daughter’s hand and placed it in Temujin’s. As he felt the touch of the girl’s fingers, Temujin felt that his heart was bursting. He moved his head and panted slightly, unable to look away from her mouth and her throat.

  Yesukai studied the girl critically, as though she were a young mare he contemplated purchasing, and then he turned to Dai Sechen and began to argue with him about the dowry. His son was no son to a herdsman, but to a khan of forty thousand tents. Dai Sechen must understand that. Dai Sechen nodded, scratching himself uneasily. Over Temujin’s shoulder Chepe Noyon peered curiously at Bortei, and he made a faint, approving smacking-sound with his smiling lips. Subodai regarded her gravely. But Jamuga, the eternally jealous, looked at her with shadowy reserve and icy coldness.

  Bortei was pleased with Temujin, though he stood there like a great calf, clutching her hand, his gray-green eyes fixed so devouringly yet so imploringly upon her. She told herself that she was fortunate to be betrothed to the oldest son of a khan, for she had a secret lust for power in her girl’s body. She had always been her father’s pet, and when first her young beauty had manifested itself clearly, he had promised her that he would wed her to no mere tribesman, but to a khan, a king, with a mighty ordu. Now the young khan had come, and he was handsome and strong and bold, for all his strange and somewhat uncanny face and look. She saw that he was courageous and fierce, and she felt the grip of his hand, masterful and inexorable. A thin flamelike thrill ran over her legs and her breast, and she smiled again, languorously, now, and her lips bloomed scarlet

  Hers was an imperious, proud and wilful nature, and she was a woman, with all a woman’s understanding of a man. She knew that here was one she could rule by the very power of her body and her arms and lips. She would bend him to her will, and he would run to answer her commands. And then, as she looked him fully again in his eyes, a cold stab entered her heart. Then she was no longer certain, but even a little afraid.

  To recover her startled poise again, she looked away from him, and her eyes rested on Subodai. An expression of astonishment stood on her face, and her lips fell open. She forgot Temujin, became unconscious of the hand that still held hers. It was as though complete awareness rushed to the windows of her eyes, and gazed out, fascinated. Never had she seen such beauty in a youth, such pride and sweetness and majesty. A wave of color ran over her features and her lips grew moist as though with sudden dew. She smiled at him, a most unmaidenly act, and her flesh glowed as if she had voluntarily loosened her robe and stepped from it, naked. Her breast seemed to swell, and her thighs moved in an irresistible impulse towards him.

  Temujin saw nothing, except her loveliness, and was conscious of his desire. But Chepe Noyon pursed up his lips soundlessly. Subodai, unaware as a statue, returned her gaze with gentle gravity. He seemed not to see her, but to be filled with some inner removed contemplation.

  Bortei’s red tongue appeared daintily and she ran it over her lips. Her nostrils distended. She looked like an embodied and delicate lust. And then, as though inexorably called by a stern voice, she was impelled to remove her eyes from Subodai and turn them to Jamuga.

  And then it was that all the light and fire and color seemed to go from her, and leave her a small and colorless shape of woman-flesh. For when her eyes met Jamuga’s, she knew that here was a mortal enemy who understood her, and hated her with all his soul. His eyes were the color of hard stone, and his rigid lips were set in granite.

  Even when he turned away abruptly, and left them all, she followed him with her hating gaze, and her heart felt full of venom, as though a serpent has fastened its fangs upon her breast.

  Chapter 15

  Yesukai, who was secretly pleased with the bride of his son, pretended to find her dowry inadequate.

  “My sworn brother is Toghrul Khan of the Karait,” he boasted. “He will bestow great gifts upon my son, if his bride pleaseth him.”

  Dai Sechen exclaimed: “And my daughter cometh of as noble people as thine, Yesukai. The Gray-eyed people are hers as well as Temujin’s.” Nevertheless, he grudgingly added more treasures to the girl’s dowry.

  “When my son sitteth on the white horseskin, a score of tribes and clans will pay him homage,” continued Yesukai, exultant.

  He left Temujin in the evening of the second day. Jamuga and Chepe Noyon and Subodai offered to accompany him, but he saw the wistfulness on his son’s face and urged the friends to remain for a few days longer. He bade farewell to Dai Sechen and his tribe, and laid his hands on Bortei’s head in blessing. “A sensible wench,” he thought.

  And he was not far wrong. Bortei, enamored of Subodai, nevertheless understood that Temujin, who excited her, was the son of the khan of the Yakka Mongols and Subodai was only his follower. Had it been possible for her to defy usage and her father and all the laws of her tribe, and marry Subodai, she would not have done so. Like Houlun, she had sagacity and intelligence. But when she thought of Subodai she smiled to herself, and the tip of her tongue touched her lips delicately.

  She avoided Jamuga, who never spoke to her even when encountered. She thought to herself: Thou pale-faced scorpion! Not long shalt thou be the anda of Temujin, when I am his wife in his tent.

  For in Jamuga she recognized unending enmity, distrust and hatred. If she were to rule Temujin’s ordu as a queen, and have unquestioned influence over her husband, she must rid herself of this malignant foe who watched over Temujin like an unsleeping eagle. No matter where she went in the ordu with her betrothed, there she saw those steadfast and vigilant eyes fixed upon her darkly and contemptuously. Sometimes her body trembled with her loathing. And sometimes, she felt the cold fingers of fear clutch her throat. She was aware that there is no vengefulness like the vengefulness of a reserved and passionless man. Once or twice she attempted to win him with gracious smiles, looking up at him with eyes deliberately artful and luminous. But always he turned a
way from her without speaking or smiling.

  Sometimes she was afraid that he would speak to Temujin and persuade him to abandon her. In order to prevent this, she flaunted Temujin’s passion in Jamuga’s face, reduced him to humility with petulance, raised him to rapture with her touch and laughter. Besides, she had done nothing upon which any one could place a finger.

  Yesukai, singing joyously to himself, rode away from the tribe of Dai Sechen. He passed the Lake of the Damned at sunset, and stopped for a moment to regard it. More than ever tonight, it had the aspect of an evil dream floating in the vast silence of the desert. For some reason he, the unimaginative, shivered, and rode quickly away. It seemed to him that the sun darkened more rapidly tonight than usual. He no longer sang. The wind was harsher and more violent than ever, when the sun sank down behind the black and broken ramparts to the west. Used to solitude and desolation, as he was, he could not keep his heart from beating uneasily. When he saw a campfire, as he rounded the flank that resembled a backbone, he could hardly keep from shouting with relief.

  More and more campfires flared in the dark purple twilight, and he halted, vaguely apprehensive, when he saw that he had come upon a camp of Tatars. After a few moments, before the dogs discovered him, he took heart, remembering the inexorable law of the steppes, that hospitality must be given freely when asked even by an enemy. Between his people and the Tatars was an immortal hostility. He rode up the camp, conscious of great weariness, and when the chief came out he demanded hospitality for the night.

  He looked at the dark and sullen faces ringed about his horse, and held his head high and fearlessly. After a moment of heavy silence, the chief invited Yesukai to be his guest.

  They filled his enamelled plate over and over, and gave him large quantities of wine. The chief listened with somber smiles to his stories of the betrothal of Temujin and Bortei, and exchanged glances with his warriors when Yesukai began to boast prodigiously. Yesukai’s courage had returned. He became quite patronizing to the chief, who pretended to be much impressed.