Khan: Empire of Silver

by Conn Iggulden

  Despite its youth, it was a place of beauty. Yao Shu listened to the rush of water running through the grounds and smiled to himself, marvelling once again at the sheer complexity of souls. For a son of Genghis to commission such a garden was nothing short of a miracle. It was a blaze of subtle colours and variety, impossible, but there it was. Whenever he thought he understood a man, he would find some contradiction. Lazy men could work themselves to death; kind ones could be cruel; cruel ones could redeem their lives. Each day could be different from all the ones that had gone before it; each man different, not just from others, but from the tumbling pieces of himself stretching back into the past. And women! Yao Shu paused to stare up through branches to where a lark sang sweetly. At the thought of the complexity of women, he laughed aloud. The bird leapt and vanished, calling its panic all the way.

  Women were even worse. Yao Shu knew he was a fine judge of character, more so than many men. Why else would Ogedai have trusted him with such authority in his absence? Yet talking to a woman like Sorhatani was like staring into an abyss. Just about anything could be looking back at you. Sometimes, it was a kitten, playful and adorable. At other times, it was a tigress with a bloody mouth and claws. Tolui’s wife had that quicksilver quality. She was utterly fearless, but if he made her laugh, she could giggle as helplessly as a girl.

  Yao Shu glowered to himself. Sorhatani had allowed him to teach her sons to read and write, even to share his Buddhist philosophy though she was herself Christian. Despite her own faith, she could be utterly pragmatic about her sons as she prepared them for the future.

  He shook his head as he crested a rise in the park. At that point in the gardens, the architect had indulged a whim, building the hill high enough for a walker to see over the garden walls. Karakorum lay all around him, but his thoughts were not with the city. He affected the air of a scholar, wandering through the gardens without a thought for the world outside. Yet he was aware of every rustling leaf around him and his eyes missed nothing.

  He had spotted two of Sorhatani’s sons. Hulegu was in a young ginkgo tree over to his right, obviously unaware that the fan-shaped leaves quivered delicately with his breathing. Arik-Boke should not have worn red in a garden with few red blossoms. Yao Shu had located him almost immediately. The khan’s chancellor moved through the gardens at the centre of the young hunters, always aware of them as they shifted their positions to keep him in sight. He would have enjoyed it more if he’d been able to complete the triangle with Kublai. He was the true threat.

  Yao Shu walked always in balance, gripping the earth through his sandals. His hands were loose, ready to intercept whatever came at him. It was perhaps not the behaviour of a good Buddhist to take delight in his reflexes, but Yao Shu knew it would also be a lesson for the boys, a reminder that they did not yet know everything – if he could locate Kublai, the only one of them with a bow.

  With the garden less than five years old, there were only a few large trees, all of them fast-growing willows and poplars. One of them stretched across the path ahead of him and Yao Shu sensed the danger in the spot when he was still far off. It was not just that it was suitable for an ambush; there was a silence about it, a lack of butterflies and movement. Yao Shu smiled. The boys had gaped at him when he suggested the game, but a man had to move to draw and shoot a bow. To get in range, they had to ambush him or reveal their presence with movement. It was not so hard to outwit the sons of Tolui.

  Kublai exploded out of the bush, his right arm coming back in the classic archer’s pull. Yao Shu dropped and rolled off the path. Something was wrong, he knew it even as he moved. He heard no arrow, no slap of a bowstring. Instead of rising as he had intended, he tucked in his shoulder and rolled back to his original position. Kublai was still visible, covered in leaves and grinning. There was no bow in his hands.

  Yao Shu opened his mouth to speak and heard a low whistle behind him. Another man would have turned, but he dropped again, skittering off the path and into a jerking run towards the source of the sound.

  Hulegu was smiling down the length of the single arrow Yao Shu had given them that sunny afternoon. The Buddhist monk skidded to a stop. The boy had fast hands, he knew. Too fast, maybe. Still, there would be a moment.

  ‘That was clever,’ Yao Shu said.

  Hulegu’s eyes began to crinkle as his smile broadened. Moving smoothly, without a jerk, Yao Shu stepped close and snatched the arrow off the string. Hulegu released instinctively and, for an instant, Yao Shu thought he had it completely clear. Then his hand jumped as if it had been kicked by a horse and he spun away. The string of woven hide had struck his knuckles, jerking the arrow almost out of his grip. Yao Shu’s fingers ached and he hoped he had not broken one. He did not show the boy his pain as he held out the arrow, and Hulegu took it from him with a shocked expression. It had all happened in a heartbeat, almost too fast to see.

  ‘That was good, getting Kublai to give you the bow,’ Yao Shu said.

  ‘It was his idea,’ Hulegu said a little defensively. ‘He said you would be watching for his green jacket and ignoring my blue.’

  Hulegu held the arrow gingerly, as if he could not believe what he had just witnessed. Kublai came up beside them and touched it almost reverently.

  ‘You took it from the string,’ Kublai said. ‘That’s impossible.’

  Yao Shu frowned at such sloppy thinking and clasped his hands behind his back. To the boys he was the picture of relaxation. The pain in his right hand was still growing. He was sure by then that he had cracked a bone, perhaps snapped it cleanly. In truth, it had been a vain move. There were a hundred ways he could have removed the threat from Hulegu as soon as he was in range. A simple nerve block to the elbow would have made him drop the bow. Yao Shu repressed a sigh. Vanity had always been his weakness.

  ‘Speed is not everything,’ he said. ‘We practise slowly until you move well, until your body has been trained to react without thought, but then, when you unleash, you must move as quickly as you can. It gives you force and power. It makes you hard to block, hard even to see. The strongest enemy can be defeated with speed and you are all young and of good stock. Your grandfather was like a striking snake until the day he died. You have that in you, if you train hard.’

  Hulegu and Kublai looked at each other as Arik-Boke joined them, his face flushed and cheerful. He had not seen the khan’s chancellor snatch an arrow right off the string of a drawn bow.

  ‘Return to your studies, my young lords,’ Yao Shu said. ‘I will leave you now to hear reports of the khan and your father.’

  ‘And Mongke,’ Hulegu said. ‘He will smash our enemies, he told me.’

  ‘And Mongke,’ Yao Shu agreed with a chuckle. He was pleased to see the flicker of disappointment in their faces as they realised their time with him was over.

  For a moment, Yao Shu contemplated Kublai. Genghis would have been proud of his grandsons. Mongke had grown strong, avoiding the ravages of disease and injury. He would be a warrior to trust, a general to follow. Yet it was Kublai who impressed his tutors most, whose mind leapt on an idea and tore it to pieces before it could breathe. Of course it had been Kublai who suggested the switch with the bow. It was a simple trick, but it had almost worked.

  Yao Shu bowed to the young men and turned away. He smiled as he left them on the paths, hearing the whispers as Kublai and Hulegu described again what they had seen. His hand had begun to swell, Yao Shu realised. He would have to soak and bind it.

  As he reached the edge of the gardens, Yao Shu repressed a groan at the sight of the men waiting for him. Almost a dozen scribes and messengers were craning for their first sight of Ogedai’s chancellor, sweating in the morning sunlight. They were his senior men. In turn, they commanded many others, almost another army of ink and paper. It amused Yao Shu to think of them as his minghaan officers. Between them, they controlled the administration of a vast and expanding area, from taxes to import licences and even public works such as the new toll bridges. Ogedai’s
uncle Temuge had wanted the post, but the khan had given it to the Buddhist monk who had accompanied Genghis on almost all his victories and trained his brothers and sons, with varying degrees of success. Temuge had been given the libraries of Karakorum and his demands for funds were increasing. Yao Shu knew Temuge would be one of those trying to reach him that day. The chancellor had six layers of men between supplicants and himself, but Genghis’ own brother could usually browbeat them into obedience.

  Yao Shu reached the group and began fielding their questions, snapping answers and making the quick decisions that were the reason Ogedai had chosen him. He needed no notes or scribes to aid his memory. He had found he could retain huge amounts of information and put it all together as he needed it. It was through his work that the Mongol lands were becoming settled, though he used Chin scholars as his bureaucracy. Slowly but surely, he was bringing a civilising influence to the Mongol court. Genghis would have hated it, but then he would have hated the very idea of Karakorum. Yao Shu smiled to himself as the questions came to an end and the group went scurrying back to their work. Genghis had conquered from a horse, but a khan could not rule from a horse. Ogedai seemed to understand that, as his father would never have done.

  Yao Shu entered the palace alone, walking towards his offices. More serious decisions waited for him there. The treasury was supplying armour, weapons, food and cloth to three armies and dwindling by the day because of it. Even the immense sums Genghis had amassed would not last for ever, though he had a year or two yet before the treasury ran dry of gold and silver. By then, though, the taxes would surely have increased from a trickle to a good-sized river.

  He saw Sorhatani walking with two of her maidservants and had a moment to appreciate her before she noticed him. Her posture marked her out, a woman who walked like an empress and always had. It made her seem much taller than she really was. Four sons she had borne and yet she still walked lithely, her oiled skin gleaming with health. As he stared, the women laughed at something, their voices light in the cool corridors. Her husband and eldest son campaigned with the khan, thousands of miles to the east. By all accounts they were doing well. Yao Shu thought of a report he had read that morning that boasted of enemies piled like rotten logs. He sighed to himself at the thought. Mongol reports tended to lack a sense of subtle understatement.

  Sorhatani saw him and Yao Shu bowed deeply and then endured her taking his hands in both of hers, as she insisted on doing whenever they met. She did not notice the heat in the broken finger.

  ‘Have my boys been working hard for you, chancellor?’ she asked.

  He smiled briefly as she released his hands. He was still young enough to feel the force of her beauty and he resisted as best he could.

  ‘They are satisfactory, my lady,’ he said formally. ‘I took them into the gardens for exercise. I understand you are to leave the city.’

  ‘I should see the lands my husband has been given. I can barely remember them from my childhood.’ She smiled distantly. ‘I would like to see where Genghis and his brothers ran as boys.’

  ‘It is a beautiful land,’ Yao Shu admitted, ‘though harsh. You will have forgotten the winters there.’

  Sorhatani shuddered slightly. ‘No, the cold is one thing I do remember. Pray for warm weather, chancellor. And what about my husband? My son? Do you have news of them?’

  Yao Shu replied more carefully to the innocent-sounding question.

  ‘I have heard of no misfortunes, mistress. The khan’s tumans have secured a tract of land, almost to the borders of the Sung territory in the south. I think they will return in a year, perhaps two.’

  ‘That is good to hear, Yao Shu. I pray for the khan’s safety.’

  Yao Shu responded, though he knew it amused her to goad him on their religions. ‘His safety will not be affected by prayers, Sorhatani, as I’m sure you know.’

  ‘You do not pray, chancellor?’ she asked in mock amazement.

  Yao Shu sighed. She made him feel old, somehow, whenever she was in this mood.

  ‘I do not ask for anything, except more understanding, Sorhatani. In meditation, I merely listen.’

  ‘And God, what does he say when you listen?’

  ‘The Buddha said, “Gripped by fear, men go to the sacred mountains and sacred groves, sacred trees and shrines.” I am not afraid of death, my lady. I need no god to comfort me in my fear.’

  ‘Then I will pray for you too, chancellor, that you find peace.’

  Yao Shu raised his eyes, but he bowed to her again, aware that her maids were watching with amused interest.

  ‘You are very kind,’ he murmured.

  Her eyes were twinkling, he saw. His day would be full of a thousand details. He had the khan’s army to supply in the Chin lands, another in Khwarezm under Chagatai and a third under Tsubodai ready to strike further into the north and west than the Mongol nation had ever ventured before. Yet he knew he would spend much of the day thinking of the ten things he should have said to Sorhatani. It was simply infuriating.

  Ogedai had not brought the war to Suzhou. The city lay beyond the Sung border, on the banks of the Yangtze river. Even if it had not been in Sung territory, it was a place of extraordinary beauty and he could not see it destroyed. Two tumans rested outside the city walls, while only a jagun of a hundred accompanied the khan.

  As Ogedai walked with two guards through an enclosure of ponds and trees, he felt at peace. He wondered if the gardens in Karakorum would ever equal such a beautifully planned wilderness. He tried not to show his wistful envy to the Sung administrator who trotted nervously at his side.

  Ogedai had thought Karakorum a model of the new world, but Suzhou’s position against a great lake, its ancient streets and buildings, made his capital look rough, unfinished by the centuries. He smiled at the thought of his father’s response to such inequity. It would have amused Genghis to take their creation and leave it as smoking rubble, his personal comment on the vanities of man.

  Ogedai wondered if Yao Shu had come from a place like Suzhou. He had never asked the monk, but it was easy to imagine men like him walking the perfectly clean streets. Tolui and Mongke had gone to the market square, looking for gifts for Sorhatani. They had just a dozen warriors with them, but there was no sense of threat in the town. Ogedai had passed word to his men that there would be no rape or destruction. The penalty for disobeying his edict was clear and Suzhou remained terrified, but untouched.

  The khan’s morning had been filled with wonders, from the municipal store of black firepowder, where the workers all wore soft slippers, to the astonishment of a watermill and huge looms producing cloth. Yet they were not his reason for taking his tumans into Sung territory. The small city had storehouses of silk and every one of his warriors wore a shirt of that material. It was the only weave capable of trapping an arrow as it twisted into the flesh. In its own way, it was more valuable than armour. Ogedai could not guess how many lives it had saved. Unfortunately, his men knew its value and few of them ever took off the silk shirts to wash them. The smell of rotting silk was part of the miasma that hung around the tumans, and as the cloth crusted with salt and sweat, it lost its pliability. He needed the entire output of Suzhou and other places like it. Destroying the fields of ancient white mulberry bushes that fed the grubs would end production for ever. Perhaps his father would have burnt them. Ogedai could not. He had spent part of the morning viewing the vats where the grubs were boiled in their cocoons before being unravelled. Such things were true wonders. The workers had not stopped as he passed, pausing only to chew the latest grub as they revealed it to the air. No one went hungry in the silk sheds of Suzhou.

  The khan had not bothered to learn the name of the little man bobbing and sweating at his side, struggling to keep up as Ogedai toured the water gardens. The Sung administrator chattered like a frightened bird when he was asked a question. At least they could communicate. Ogedai had Yao Shu to thank for that, and years spent learning the language.

  Hi
s time in the water gardens would be brief, he knew. His tumans were restless among such prosperity. For all their discipline, there would be problems if he kept them near the city for long. He had noticed the men of Suzhou had the sense to remove their women from sight, but there were always temptations.

  ‘One thousand bolts of silk a year,’ Ogedai said. ‘Suzhou can produce that much, yes?’

  ‘Yes, lord. High weight, good colour and lustre. Dyed well, without spotting or tangled threads.’

  The administrator nodded miserably as he spoke. Whatever happened, he suspected he was ruined. The Mongol armies would go and the emperor’s soldiers would arrive to ask him why he had brokered trade deals with an enemy of their master. He wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place in the gardens, write his last poem and open a vein.

  Ogedai saw the man’s eyes were glassy and assumed he was terrified. He made a gesture with his hand and his guard stepped forward and took the administrator by the throat. The glassy look vanished, but Ogedai continued talking as if nothing had happened.

  ‘Let him go. Are you listening now? Your masters, your emperor are not your concern. I control the north and they will trade with me, eventually.’

  Ogedai’s chest was hurting him and he walked with a cup of red wine in his hand, constantly refilled. With the foxglove powder, it eased the ache, though his senses swam. He drained the cup and held it out. The second guard stepped forward instantly with a half-full skin of the wine. Ogedai cursed as he spilled some of the dark liquid on the cuff of his sleeve.

  ‘I will send my scribes to your house at noon,’ he said. He had to speak slowly and firmly so as not to slur his words, but the little man did not seem to notice. ‘They will work out the details. I will pay in good silver, do you understand? Noon – not tonight, or days from now.’

  The administrator nodded. He would be dead by noon; it did not matter what he agreed with this strange man and his ugly way of speaking. The smell alone of the Mongols took his breath away. It was not just rotten silk and mutton fat, but the dense odour of men who had never grown used to washing their skins in the far north, where the air was dry. In the south, they sweated and stank. The administrator was not surprised their khan enjoyed the gardens. With the pools and the stream, it was one of the coolest spots in Suzhou.