Lords of the Bow

‘We cannot be attacked from the desert and no army can reach us here with that new lake in the way. Let us feast tonight and celebrate our victory,’ Genghis said.

Khasar nodded, grinning.

‘Now that, my brother, is a fine idea.’

Rai Chiang gripped the arms of his gilded chair, staring out over the drowned plain. The city had warehouses of salted meat and grain, but with the crops rotting, there would be no more. He turned the problem over and over in his mind, despairingly. Though they did not yet know it, many in the city would starve to death. His remaining guards would be overwhelmed by the hungry mob when winter came and Yinchuan would be ruined from within.

As far as his eye could see, the waters stretched back to the mountains. Behind the city to the south, there were still fields and towns where neither the invaders nor the flood had yet reached, but they were not enough to feed the people of the Xi Xia. He thought of the militia in those places. If he stripped every last man from those towns, he could assemble another army, but he would lose the provinces to banditry as soon as the famine began to bite. It was infuriating, but he could not see a solution to his troubles.

He sighed to himself, causing his first minister to look up.

‘My father told me always to keep the peasants fed,’ Rai Chiang said aloud. ‘I did not understand its importance at the time. What does it matter if a few starve each winter? Does it not show the displeasure of the gods?’

The first minister nodded solemnly.

‘Without the example of suffering, Majesty, our people will not work. While they can see the results of laziness, they toil in the sun to feed themselves and their families. It is the way the gods have ordered the world and we cannot stand against their will.’

‘But now, they will all go hungry,’ Rai Chiang snapped, tired of the man’s droning voice. ‘Instead of a just example, a moral lesson, half our people will be clamouring for food and fighting in the streets.’

‘Perhaps, Majesty,’ the minister replied, unconcerned. ‘Many will die, but the kingdom will remain. The crops will grow again and, next year, there will be an abundance for the mouths of the peasants. Those who survive the winter will grow fat and bless your name.’

Rai Chiang could not find the words to argue. He stared down from the tower of his palace at the throng in the streets. The lowest beggars had heard the news of the crops being left to spoil in the water from the mountains. They were not hungry yet, but they would be thinking of the cold months and already there were riots. His guard had been ruthless on his order, culling hundreds at the slightest sign of unrest. The people had learned to fear the king and yet, in his private thoughts, he feared them more.

‘Can anything be saved?’ he asked at last. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought he could smell the rich odour of dying vegetation on the breeze.

The first minister considered, looking through a list of events in the city as if he might find inspiration there.

‘If the invaders left today, Majesty, we could no doubt salvage some of the hardier grains. We could sow rice in the waterlogged fields and take one crop. The canals could be rebuilt, or we could direct the course of the water around the plain. Perhaps a tenth of the yield could be saved or replaced.’

‘But the invaders will not leave,’ Rai Chiang went on. He thumped his fist into the arm of the chair.

‘They have beaten us. Lice-ridden, stinking tribesmen have cut right to the heart of the Xi Xia and I am meant to sit here and preside over the stench of rotting wheat.’

The first minister bowed his head at the tirade, frightened to speak. Two of his colleagues had been executed that very morning as the king’s temper mounted. He did not want to join them.

The king rose and clasped his hands behind his back.

‘I have no choices left. If I strip the south of the militia in every town, it will not equal the numbers who failed against them. How long would it be before those towns become strongholds for bandits without the king’s soldiers to keep them quiet? I would lose the south as well as the north and then the city would fall.’ He swore under his breath and the minister paled.

‘I will not sit and wait for the peasants to riot, or this sickly smell of rot to fill every room in the city. Send out messengers to the leader of these people. Tell him I will grant him an audience that we may discuss his demands on my people.’

‘Majesty, they are little better than savage dogs,’ the minister spluttered. ‘There can be no negotiation with them.’

Rai Chiang turned furious eyes on his servant.

‘Send them out. I have not been able to destroy this army of savage dogs. All I have is the fact that he cannot take my city from me. Perhaps I can bribe him into leaving.’

The minister flushed with the shame of the task, but he bowed to the floor, pressing his head against the cool wood.

As evening came, the tribes were drunk and singing. The storytellers had been busy with tales of the battle and how Genghis had drawn the enemy past their ring of iron. Comic poems had the children in fits of giggles and, before the light faded, there were many contests of wrestling and archery, the champions wearing a grass wreath on their heads until they drank themselves to insensibility.

Genghis and his generals presided over the celebration. Genghis blessed a dozen new marriages, giving weapons and ponies from his own herd to warriors who had distinguished themselves. The gers were packed with women captured from the towns, though not all the wives welcomed the newcomers. More than one fight between women had ended in bloodshed, each time with the sinewy Mongol women victorious over their husbands’ captives. Before nightfall, Kachiun had been called to the site of three different killings as anger flared with the airag liquor in their veins. He had ordered two men and a woman to be tied to a post and beaten bloody. He did not care about those who had been killed, but he had no desire to see the tribes descend into an orgy of lust and violence. Perhaps because of his iron hand, the mood of the tribes remained light as the stars came out and, though some of them missed the plains of home, they looked upon their leaders with pride.

Beside the ger where Genghis met his generals was his family home, no larger or more ornate than any other raised by the families of the new nation. While he cheered the wrestling bouts, and torches were lit around the vast camp, his wife Borte sat with her four sons, crooning to them as they ate. With the coming of dusk, Jochi and Chagatai had made themselves difficult to find, preferring the noise and fun of the feast to sleep. Borte had been forced to send out three warriors to scour the gers for them and they had been brought back still struggling under their arms. Both boys sat glaring at one another in the little ger while Borte sang Ogedai and little Tolui to sleep. The day had been exhausting for them and it did not take long before both younger boys were dreaming in their blankets.

Borte turned to Jochi, frowning at the anger in his face.

‘You have not eaten, little man,’ she said to him. He sniffed without replying and Borte leaned closer to him.

‘That cannot be airag I smell on your breath?’ she demanded. Jochi’s manner changed in an instant and he drew up his knees like a barrier.

‘It would be,’ Chagatai said, delighted at the chance to see his brother squirm. ‘Some of the men gave him a drink and he was sick on the grass.’

‘Keep your mouth still!’ Jochi shouted, springing up. Borte grabbed him by the arm, her strength easily a match for the little boy’s. Chagatai grinned, thoroughly satisfied.

‘He is bitter because he broke his favourite bow this morning,’ Jochi snapped, struggling in his mother’s grasp. ‘Let me go!’

In response, Borte slapped Jochi across the face and dropped him back onto the blankets. It was not a hard blow, but he raised his hand to his cheek in shock.

‘I have heard your squabbling all day,’ she said angrily. ‘When will you realise you cannot fight like puppies with the tribes watching? Not you. Do you think it pleases your father? If I tell him, you will …’

‘Don’t tell him,’ Jochi said quickly, fear showing on his face.

Borte relented immediately. ‘I will not, if you behave and work. You will inherit nothing from him simply because you are his sons. Is Arslan his blood? Jelme? If you are fit to lead, he will choose you, but do not expect him to favour you over better men.’

Both boys were listening intently and she realised she had not spoken to them in this way before. It surprised her to see how they hung on every word and she considered what else she might say before they were distracted.

‘Eat your food while you listen,’ she said. To her pleasure, both boys took the plates of meat and wolfed into them, though they had long gone cold. Their eyes never left hers as they waited for their mother to continue.

‘I had thought your father might have explained this to you by now,’ she murmured. ‘If he were khan of a small tribe, perhaps his eldest would expect to inherit his sword, his horse and his bondsmen. He once expected the same from your grandfather, Yesugei, though his brother Bekter was oldest.’

‘What happened to Bekter?’ Jochi asked.

‘Father and Kachiun killed him,’ Chagatai said with relish. Borte winced as Jochi’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Truly?’

His mother sighed.

‘That is a story for another day. I don’t know where Chagatai heard it, but he should know better than to listen to the gossip of the campfires.’

Chagatai nodded briskly at Jochi behind her back, grinning at his brother’s discomfort. Borte shot him an irritable glance, catching him before he could freeze.

‘Your father is not some small khan from the hills,’ she said. ‘He has more tribes than can be counted on the hands. Will you expect him to hand them over to a weakling?’ She turned to Chagatai. ‘Or a fool?’ She shook her head. ‘He will not. He has younger brothers and they will all have sons. The next khan may come from them, if he is dissatisfied with the men you become.’

Jochi lowered his head as he thought this through.

‘I am better with a bow than anyone else,’ he muttered. ‘And my pony is only slow because he is so small. When I have a man’s mount, I will be faster.’

Chagatai snorted.

‘I am not talking about the skills of war,’ Borte said, nettled. ‘You will both be fine warriors, I have seen it in you.’ Before they could begin to preen at the rare compliment, she went on.

‘Your father will look to see if you can lead men and think quickly. Did you see the way he raised Tsubodai to command a hundred? The boy is unknown, of no blood line that matters, but your father respects his mind and his skill. He will be tested, but he could be a general when he has his full growth. He could command a thousand, even ten thousand warriors in war. Will you do the same?’

‘Why not?’ Chagatai said instantly.

Borte turned to him.

‘When you are playing with your friends, are you the one the others look to? Do they follow your ideas or do you follow theirs? Think hard now, for there will be many who flatter you because of your father. Think of those you respect. Do they listen?’

Chagatai bit his lip as he thought. He shrugged.

‘Some of them. They are children.’

‘Why would they follow you when you spend your days fighting with your brother?’ she said, pressing him.

The little boy looked resentful as he struggled with ideas too big for him. He raised his chin in defiance.

‘They won’t follow Jochi. He thinks they should, but they never will.’

Borte felt a coldness touch her chest at the words.

‘Really, my son?’ she said softly. ‘Why would they not follow your older brother?’

Chagatai turned his head away and Borte reached out and gripped him painfully by his arm. He did not cry out, though tears showed at the corners of his eyes.

‘Are there secrets between us, Chagatai?’ Borte asked, her voice grating. ‘Why would they never follow Jochi?’

‘Because he is a Tartar bastard!’ Chagatai shouted. This time, the slap that Borte landed on her son was not gentle. It knocked his head to one side and he sprawled on the bed, dazed. Blood trickled from his nose and he began to wail in shock.

Jochi spoke quietly behind her.

‘He tells them that all the time,’ he said. His voice was dark with fury and despair and Borte found tears in her own eyes at the pain he was suffering. Chagatai’s crying had wakened her two youngest sons and they too began to sob, affected by the scene in the ger without understanding it.

Borte reached out to Jochi and enfolded him in her arms.

‘You cannot wish it back into your brother’s foolish mouth,’ she murmured into his hair. She pulled back then to look into Jochi’s eyes, wanting him to understand. ‘Some words can be a cruel weight on a man, unless he learns to ignore them. You will have to be better than all the others to win your father’s approval. You know it now.’

‘Is it true then?’ he whispered, looking away. He felt the stiffness in her back as she considered her answer and he began to sob gently himself.

‘Your father and I begat you on a winter plain, hundreds of miles from the Tartars. It is true that I was lost to him for a time and he … killed the men who had taken me, but you are his son and mine. His first-born.’

‘My eyes are different, though,’ he said.

Borte snorted.

‘So were Bekter’s when they were young. He was a son of Yesugei, but his eyes were as dark as yours. No one ever dared to question his blood. Do not think of it, Jochi. You are a grandson of Yesugei and a son of Genghis. You will be a khan one day.’

As Chagatai snuffled and wiped blood onto his hand, Jochi grimaced, leaning back to look at his mother. Visibly, he summoned his courage, taking a deep breath before speaking. His voice quavered, humiliating him in front of his brothers.

‘He killed his brother,’ he said, ‘and I have seen the way he looks at me. Does he love me at all?’

Borte pressed the little boy into her breast, her heart breaking for him.

‘Of course he does. You will make him see you as his heir, my son. You will make him proud.’

CHAPTER NINE

It took five thousand warriors even longer to divert the canals with earth and rubble than it had to break them. Genghis had given the order when he saw the flood levels were threatening even the rising ground of the new camp. When the work was done, the water formed new lakes to the east and west, but at last the way to Yinchuan was drying in the sun. The ground was thick with greasy black plants and swarms of biting flies that irritated the tribes. Their ponies sank to the knees in sticky mud, making it hard to scout and adding to a feeling of confinement in the gers. There were many arguments and fights among the tribes each evening and Kachiun was hard pressed to keep the peace.

The news that eight riders were toiling across the sodden plain was welcomed by all those who had grown tired of their inactivity. They had not come through the desert to remain in one place. Even the children had lost interest in the floodwaters and many of them had become ill from drinking stagnant water.

Genghis watched the Xi Xia horsemen struggle through the mud. He had assembled five thousand of his warriors to face them on the dry ground, placing them right on the edge of the mud so that his enemy would have no place to rest. The Xi Xia horses were already blowing with the effort of pulling each leg from the clotted soil and the riders were hard pressed to keep their dignity as they risked a fall.

To Genghis’ enormous pleasure, one of them did slip from the saddle when his mount lurched into a hole. The tribes hooted in derision as the man yanked savagely on his reins and remounted, soaked in filth. Genghis glanced at Barchuk at his side, noting the man’s expression of satisfaction. He was there as an interpreter, but Kokchu and Temuge stood with them as well to hear what the king’s messenger had to say. Both men had taken to their studies of the Chin language with what Genghis considered to be indecent enjoyment. The shaman and Genghis’ younger brother were clearly excited at the chance to test their newfound knowledge.

The riders halted as Genghis raised a flat palm. They had come just close enough for him to hear their words and, though they seemed unarmed, he was not a trusting man. If he were in the position of the Xi Xia king, an attempt at assassination would certainly be something he considered at that time. At his back, the tribes watched in silence, their double-curved bows ready in their hands.

‘Are you lost?’ Genghis called to them. He watched as they glanced to one of their number, a soldier in fine armour that extended to a headpiece of iron scales. Genghis nodded to himself, knowing the man would speak for them all. He was not disappointed.

‘I bear a message from the king of the Xi Xia,’ the soldier replied. To the disappointment of Temuge and Kokchu, the words were perfectly clear in the language of the tribes.

Genghis looked questioningly at Barchuk and the Uighur khan spoke in a murmur, barely moving his lips.

‘I have seen him before, at the trading days. He is an officer of some middle rank, very proud.’

‘He looks it, in that fine armour,’ Genghis replied, before raising his voice to address the soldiers.

‘Dismount if you would talk to me,’ Genghis called. The riders exchanged resigned glances and Genghis masked his amusement as they stepped down into thick mud. They were held almost immobile by its grip and their expressions raised his spirits.

‘What does your king have to say?’ Genghis continued, staring at the officer. The man had flushed in anger as the mud ruined his fine boots and took a moment to master his emotions before replying.

‘He bids you meet him in the shadow of the walls of Yinchuan, under truce. His honour will guarantee no attack while you are there.’

‘What does he have to say to me?’ Genghis said again, as if there had been no reply.

The man’s flush deepened.

‘If I knew his mind, there would be little point in such a meeting,’ he snapped. Those with him glanced nervously at the host of Mongol warriors waiting with bows. They had seen the extraordinary accuracy of those weapons and their eyes pleaded with their spokesman not to give any offence that might lead to an attack.

Genghis smiled.

‘What is your name, angry man?’

‘Ho Sa. I am Hsiao-Wei of Yinchuan. You might call me a khan, perhaps, a senior officer.’

‘I would not call you a khan,’ Genghis replied. ‘But you are welcome in my camp, Ho Sa. Send these goats home and I will welcome you in my ger and share tea and salt with you.’

Ho Sa turned to his companions and jerked his head back at the city in the distance. One of them spoke a string of meaningless syllables that made Kokchu and Temuge crane forward to hear. Ho Sa shrugged at his companion and Genghis watched as the other seven mounted and turned back to the city.

‘Those are beautiful horses,’ Barchuk said at his shoulder. Genghis looked at the Uighur khan. He nodded, catching the eye of Arslan where he stood along the line of warriors. Genghis jerked two fingers at the retreating group, like a snake striking.

An instant later, a hundred shafts flashed through the air to take the seven riders neatly from their saddles. One of the horses was killed and Genghis heard Arslan barking at an unfortunate warrior for his incompetence. As Genghis watched, Arslan took the man’s bow and cut the string with a jerk of his knife before handing it back to him. The warrior took it with his head bowed in humiliation.

Bodies lay still on the plain, face down in the mud. On such ground, the horses could not bolt easily. Without their riders to urge them on, they stood listlessly, looking back at the tribes. Two of them nuzzled the bodies of the men they had known, whickering nervously at the smell of blood.

Ho Sa stared in thin-lipped fury as Genghis turned to face him.

‘They were good horses,’ Genghis said. The soldier’s expression did not change and the khan shrugged. ‘Words are not heavy. It does not take more than one of you to carry my reply.’

He left Ho Sa to be taken to the great ger and given salt tea. Genghis remained behind to see the horses as they were captured and brought back.

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