The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  Temujin formed the new institution of nokud, picked companions of chivalry, courage and devotion and intelligence. Kurelen watched with intense admiration and surprise. He questioned Temujin about this new military nucleus which he was forming, and wondered aloud how his nephew had thought of it.

  And Temujin replied:

  “The clever man, the lord, doth not always make circumstance. He doth seize on change and necessity, and make them his servants. He must bend inevitable events to his purpose. The world doth change constantly, even here on the Gobi, as though change were mysteriously ordained by the gods. The victor is he who doth foresee the changes, and ride them, at their head.”

  He swore each nokur to him personally, impressing upon him that his devotion was more than any devotion to other tribe or family or wife or child or friend. The nokur was entirely free, not a vassal, not a toiler like a slave. He was a military servant, a commander, an organizer in command of lesser men. He had his own dignity and pride, and because Temujin did not interfere (wisely) with these things, and demanded nothing but the most implicit obedience and allegiance to himself, the nokud served him like a god and would not hesitate to give up their lives for him. They shared the first fruits of the raids, the fairest women, the finest horses. Fluid but disciplined, fierce and devoted, bold and obedient, they were the first military caste of the desert and the barrens. And Temujin, as always, seemed to inspire in all of them an almost superstitious worship and love. He never broke his word, for he had said that the first law a leader must impose upon himself was to observe his promises implicitly, whether they were promises of punishment or reward.

  Before long, the rumor of his laws flew over the barrens to other tribes, and it was said of him that he was a man with a country. He was a prince who demanded almost superhuman devotion, but in return he was devoted to his people, and was the first servant of all.

  Jamuga Sechen watched the formation of this new military caste with dismay. To him, the nokud appeared parasites, who lived by the enslaving of the weak and poor and helpless. Heretofore, each member of the tribe was an individual unto himself, giving service when demanded to his lord, but proud of his intense personal life in which the lord did not interfere. The lord provided him with pasture, asking only that the man help him protect this pasture. But now every member was the servant of some nokud, and his life was filled with constant obligations and toil. No longer was the old free and independent life possible, with every man keeping what he had seized for himself. Each lowly man was the complete slave and servant of his nokur, and he must submit all that he seized into a common heap, which the nokur would divide as he saw fit and just. He had no life of his own. His duties were rigid, and done for the good of all. His obedience was demanded, and the slightest infringement resulted in severe punishment and even death. For the nokud were harsh and merciless, if just, and they impressed upon the people that the first law of survival was obedience, and he who disobeyed in the smallest thing was an enemy of the whole clan. He who demurred or complained was called a traitor, and his punishment descended upon him like a sword.

  Temujin’s nokud consisted of many commanders, and among them were Chepe Noyon, Jamuga, Subodai and Kasar and Belgutei. He formed them into a personal military bodyguard for himself, and by so doing removed himself from the trivial affairs of the tribe, which the nokud managed, and reserved himself for greater things.

  Jamuga admitted to himself that order and discipline had appeared for the first time in any tribe, and that the whole ordu moved as a single unit, strong and formidable and obedient, each member only a link in a chain, only a spoke in a wheel. But this seemed terrible to him, this violation of the ageless integrity and individual pride of the nomad, when each man served his lord only for his own protection, and was a law unto himself, when immediate service was no longer demanded of him. But now there were no proud individuals, no self-respect. There were only slaves under the whip and voice of the nokud, with no personal life.

  Temujin increasingly became strange to him. Temujin still showed his anda his old affection and confidence, but Jamuga felt that some frightful stranger had taken possession of Temujin’s body and voice, and the spirit that looked through his eyes was some malignancy which could never be placated. He could not be at ease with this stranger, this malignancy; he could not speak to him fully. His own bitterness and dejection darkened his face and voice, and more and more he avoided Temujin.

  One day he went to Kurelen, in his despair, forgetting his old suspicion. He began to speak of the nokud, the stern military caste, the commanders who treated those under them like soulless dogs. He stammered in his dismay and grief, and his voice died away. Kurelen lifted one of his tilted black brows and smiled.

  “I see law and order for the first time, Jamuga,” he said.

  “But at what cost!” exclaimed the young man.

  Kurelen shrugged. “Know thee, Jamuga, that I do not value law and order above the hearts of men. But that is because I have always hated ruthless discipline. However, that doth not mean that law and order are not desirable, with the security and oneness they bring. Before this, we had unrest and unruliness and discontent. I grant thee that these things are subdued by fear. But mayhap fear is necessary in this new world which Temujin hath seized, and made.” He added, with a quizzical smile: “When, before this, were we so safe, so secure? We must give all honor to Temujin.”

  Jamuga regarded him with bitterness. “Then it is useless to point out to thee that our people are slaves, and no longer free men?”

  Again Kurelen shrugged. “Freedom! Not all men are capable or deserving of it. It doth make them no happier. They prefer obedience and security. Our people appear more contented, more at ease. Each man doth know he will not starve, for the nokud portion out loot to every one. Life is short. It doth seem to me that the surrender of freedom is a small price to pay for a comfortable life.” He added: “Long ago I decided that. Let another make the decision for me, so long as I may eat at regular intervals.”

  Jamuga stared at him with icy violence. “Thou hast the soul of a slave, Kurelen! But I prefer to make mine own decisions, and for the sake of mine own peace, I wish to see other men also make theirs.”

  Kurelen smiled, but did not answer. Jamuga did not see the cynicism and irony in that smile, the self-disdain and ridicule. He turned and went away.

  Driven by his misery, he at last sought out Temujin one night. Temujin was already asleep, but appeared pleased when Jamuga entered his yurt. He lifted a lamp and threw its light on Jamuga’s pale face. He saw the light blue eyes, heavy-rimmed and somber. For a long moment the two young men regarded each other in silence. Then Temujin put the lamp on its tabouret, and motioned Jamuga to sit beside him. But Jamuga remained standing, thin and tall, like a steel blade.

  “Temujin,” he began in a low voice, “I have come unto thee out of my wretchedness and despair, and my feeling of helpless strangeness. I come because I feel deprived and lost.”

  Temujin looked at him intently. His eyes were as blue and kind as a summer sky. He said sympathetically:

  “Deprived, Jamuga? That is most strange! I thought the treasures thou didst lose to the Merkit had been replenished a hundred times. I believed that thou didst receive thy pick of the most delicate jewels and ivories and silvers which Toghrul Khan and the other traders sent to me as a gift.”

  Jamuga opened his lips to reply disgustedly, thinking that Temujin had misunderstood him. And then his mouth became rigid. For he saw only too clearly that Temujin had understood him perfectly. A sensation of complete impotence overcame him. He felt physically sick. But his was an obstinate and tenacious nature, and he would not give up. He knelt before Temujin, and began to speak in a hurried and eager voice, which was filled with anxious despair.

  “Look thee, Temujin, thou dost not need to mock me. Thou dost know my heart. And I have come to thee out of our old love, which thou hast forgotten.”

  Temujin was silent. A hard and cur
ious expression tightened his fixed smile. But his eyes were still kind; he shifted them a little, so that they did not gaze directly at his anda.

  Jamuga, as though by laying a physical touch upon Temujin he might bring back his friend, seized his arm. But his confusion grew.

  “Temujin, once thou didst have honor and courtliness and pride. Now thou hast none of these, and my heart faileth me. And because I love thee I must come with prayers and censure—”

  Then Temujin looked at him directly, and his eyes were like green polished jade, and as expressionless. But his voice was still sympathetic.

  “Jamuga, thou dost think too much. Get thee a wife, several wives. Look thee, tomorrow thou shalt have the pick of my women. There is one who hath hair the color of a raven’s wing, and eyes as blue as spring water. When men’s souls do trouble them they need only a woman, and not philosophy.”

  Jamuga gazed at him with dumb and sorrowful silence. Temujin shook him lightly and affectionately.

  “Men who develop their souls wither their bodies, Jamuga. Thou dost pore too much over those Chinese manuscripts of thine, which are full of enervating subtleties. Men lose their reason in a forest of words, and their swords rust in the stagnant waters of thought. Thou hast begun to substitute conversation for action, and art losing thy virility. I tell thee again: take a woman.”

  He smiled with affectionate amusement. But inwardly he was irritated by Jamuga’s dark fixed sorrow.

  Jamuga said simply: “I live only to serve thee, Temujin. I love none but thee. I am dedicated to thy life. Thou hast always known this. Thou dost think many love thee: Kurelen, Houlun and Bortei. But none love thee as I love thee. And that is why I come without fear to thee, and must speak.”

  Temujin yawned. “Thou dost discover strange times to speak, Jamuga. That is thy peculiarity. But speak, and then go, and let me sleep again.”

  Jamuga lifted his hands in a heavy and despairing gesture, and let them drop. But he continued to speak in low quiet tones:

  “Since thou didst become khan, Temujin, thou art strange to me. Thy father had his nomad honor. Thou hast none. For instance, those caravans whose owners pay thee flattery and tribute are protected by thee, even at the cost of many of the lives of our people. But those caravans who come without gifts through thy territory are raided, the men enslaved, the treasures seized. Is that honor?”

  Temujin laughed lightly. “Wouldst thou have me raid and rob without discrimination?”

  But Jamuga replied steadfastly: “There is no honor in discrimination, when it is bought. I grant thee we must live. But not by such means.”

  Temujin said impatiently: “Thou art becoming subtle, Jamuga. I despise subtlety. But go on; thou hast more to say.”

  “Yes, much more. Temujin, I hate thy nokud. Our people are enslaved, robbed of personal integrity. Robbed of their souls.”

  Temujin looked at him with eyes like a savage beast’s. “What souls?” he asked contemptuously. “Go to, Jamuga! Thou dost whine like a Buddhist monk, or a silly woman. What is the purpose of man? To survive! I survive, my people survive. Less than three moons ago, I was a hunted beggar, robbed of ordu and herds. Now, I am strong. I have seized over ten weaker tribes, and welded them to mine. I am a khan in truth, not a starving fugitive. My people have good pastures again, and security. Where is there security in honor? My nokud are my warrior bodyguard, mine officers. I have instituted order and discipline, for the good of all. All these are little to pay for what we have become.”

  Jamuga’s head dropped wearily on his chest. “I prefer peace,” he murmured sadly.

  “Peace!” Temujin burst into scornful laughter. “Did we have peace when we were hunted?”

  “Thou dost not understand, Temujin.”

  Temujin smiled with disdain. “Jamuga, thou didst always underestimate me. I understand thee well. But peace is not for men of action. Peace is for the conqueror, when he can afford it. I cannot afford it. Dost thou understand?”

  “Thou dost not want it, Temujin.”

  “Perhaps not. I am still virile, Jamuga.”

  Then Jamuga lifted his head and looked at him straightly.

  “What dost thou want, Temujin?”

  And Temujin replied, with a smile, as he had replied to Kurelen, “The world.”

  Jamuga got to his feet, and in silence went to the flap of the yurt. He had reached it, when Temujin’s voice, peremptory and harsh, stopped him.

  “Jamuga, thou art mine anda.”

  Jamuga turned slowly and gazed at him with grief.

  “It is not I who have forgotten it, Temujin, but thou.”

  He went out. Temujin did not lie down immediately, and sleep again. He scowled to himself in the yurt. He remembered that once Jamuga had told him that men of great dissimilar aims cannot be friends in truth, but have only hatred, especially if those aims collide with the conscience of one. He shook his head irritably. Surely Jamuga did not hate him! He knew Jamuga too well, he told himself. There was no treachery in that stern cold heart, no craftiness in that narrow conscience! He could trust Jamuga to the end of his life, despite his anda’s predilection for philosophy and peace.

  Yet, fragments of other voices joined his angry thoughts. He remembered that Bortei had said only that morning:

  “There is much behind that pale still face of Jamuga’s. He loveth the old slow ways, and hateth and suspecteth the new. What place is there for a man who clingeth to the past, in a world that is changing? Men like this have a tenacious hold on the things which are dead, and fear that which is living. And because of this, they cannot be faithful to the new way, for they suspecteth it, and find no good in it. Temujin, my love, I do not ask thee to break thy sworn oath of brotherhood to Jamuga, but because I worship thee I must warn thee to trust Jamuga little, and to watch him ever.”

  Houlun had heard these words, and her face had become inscrutable as she looked at her son. But she said only: “Bortei sayeth well.”

  Temujin had then gone to Kurelen, and had told him what his wife and mother had said. And Kurelen, after a long silent moment, had asked: “Dost thou truly suspect Jamuga?”

  “Nay,” Temujin had replied impatiently, but involuntarily looking away.

  Kurelen had smiled and shrugged. “I know thee well, Temujin. Thou dost listen to others only if thou hast already agreed with them in thy heart. I have nothing more to say.”

  Temujin lay down on his couch, and continued to scowl in the darkness. He never lied to himself. He thought: Am I ready to distrust Jamuga because he doth irritate me? Am I ready to find him treacherous, because he doth irritate me? Am I ready to find him treacherous, because his ways do not coincide with mine? Have I become so foolish that I find faithfulness only in those who say to me: “Yea, lord”? Who is there to trust?

  And his heart replied honestly: Jamuga, only.

  He made an impatient gesture, and forced himself to sleep.

  Jamuga slowly walked under the stars. Their fiery white light illuminated all the vast grassy steppe. He saw the mounted sentries against the heavens, motionless like statues. Another horseman was in conversation with one of them, and he saw that it was the nokud, Chepe Noyon. Chepe Noyon greeted him with his gay dimpled-smile. Jamuga halted and looked at him earnestly.

  “Thou hast returned, then, Chepe Noyon. How many of our warriors died in defense of the last caravan which paid us tribute?”

  Chepe Noyon smiled, but his merry eyes narrowed. He looked at Jamuga from his horse’s back.

  “Ten, Jamuga. But why?”

  But Jamuga did not answer. He bent his head and went on. Chepe Noyon followed him with a speculative glance, pursing his lips. He thought Jamuga rather stupid, but had no personal animosity towards him, knowing the singleness of his devotion. He said aloud: “There is trouble in that heart. And when a man hath trouble in his heart, let his friends beware.”

  He added thoughtfully: “There are many who envy Jamuga’s place.” He felt no regret. Gay and affable and oppo
rtunistic, he, like so many charming men, was completely selfish. He knew the malicious rumors about Jamuga, and knew they were lies. But for his own advancement he would not brand them as falsehood. He had, he told himself, his own progress to consider. Let events take their course.

  Jamuga returned to his solitary yurt. He lit the beautiful silver and crystal lamp which Temujin had given him. He opened his carved chest and withdrew his most treasured Chinese manuscript, and began to read, sitting cross-legged on a low cushioned stool, his face bent and brooding, carved in light and shadow by the lamp.

  “Let a man seek virtue, and he will find wantonness. Let him seek honor among men, and he will discover himself in a den of thieves. Let him seek God in the world, and he will find nothingness. Let him search for a just man, and he will find a bloody sword. Let him cry for love unto the hearts of men, and hatred will answer. Let him seek in the places of mankind for peace, and he will find himself among the dead. Let him call unto the nations for truth, and falsehood and treachery will echo him. But let him seek all goodness in himself, in humility and gentleness and faith, and he will see the face of God, and will find all the world arrayed in light and mercy. And then, at last, he will no longer fear any man.”

  Jamuga closed the manuscript. He gazed somberly before him into space. And then, one by one, the tears slowly filed their way down his cheeks. But his quiet eyes were full of sad tranquillity.