Genghis: Birth of an Empire (16 page)

Yesugei shifted under the touch and opened his eyes, looking directly at them.

“It is Temujin, husband; he has come home safe,” Hoelun said gently.

The eyes remained blank and Temujin felt fresh tears starting.

“I don’t want you to die,” he said to his father, beginning to sob in spasms. “I don’t know what to do.”

The khan of the Wolves took in a sharp breath, so that his ribs stood out like a cage. Temujin leaned over him and pressed his hand into his father’s. The skin was impossibly hot and dry, but he did not let go. He saw his father’s mouth move and dropped his head to hear.

“I am home, Father,” he said. The grip tightened enough to hurt. Temujin brought his other hand over to hold his father’s fingers, and for a moment their eyes met and he thought he saw recognition.

“The Tartars,” Yesugei whispered. His throat seemed to close on the words, and the pent-up air released in a great sigh that ended in a dry clicking. Temujin waited for the next breath, and when it did not come, he realized the hand he held had fallen limp. He held it even harder in a rush of despair, aching to hear another breath.

“Don’t leave us here,” he begged, but he knew he could not be heard. Hoelun made a choking sound behind him, but he could not tear himself away from the sunken face of the man he adored. Had he told him? He could not remember saying the words and he had a sudden fear that his father would go to the spirits without knowing how much he had meant to his sons.

“Everything I am comes from you,” he whispered. “I am your son and
nothing
else. Can you hear me?”

He felt his mother’s hands on his own.

“He waited for you, Temujin. He has gone now,” she said.

He could not look at her.

“Do you think he knew how much I loved him?” he said.

She smiled through her tears and for a moment she looked as pretty as she must have been when she was young.

“He knew. He was so proud of you, he used to think his heart would burst with it. He used to look at me whenever you rode, or fought with your brothers, or argued with them. I could see it in his smile then. He did not want to spoil you, but the sky father gave him the sons he wanted and you were his pride, his private joy. He knew.”

It was too much for Temujin to hear and he wept unashamedly.

“We must tell the families that he is gone at last,” Hoelun said.

“What then?” Temujin replied, wiping his tears. “Eeluk will not support me to lead the Wolves. Will Bekter be khan?” He searched her face for some reassurance, but found only exhaustion and grief returning to cloud her eyes.

“I do not know what will happen, Temujin. If your father had survived a few more years, it would not matter, but now? There is no good time to die, but this…”

She began to weep and Temujin found himself drawing her head against his shoulder. He could not have imagined giving her comfort, but it seemed to come naturally and somehow it strengthened him for whatever was to come. He felt his youth as a weakness, but with his father’s spirit close, he knew he had to find the courage to face the families. His gaze flickered around the ger.

“Where is the eagle I brought for him?”

His mother shook her head. “I could not care for it. Eeluk took it to another family.”

Temujin struggled with a rising hatred for the man his father had trusted in all things. He drew away from his mother and Hoelun rose and looked down at the body of Yesugei. As Temujin watched, she leaned over her husband and kissed him gently on his open mouth. She seemed to shudder at the contact, her whole body quivering. With shaking fingers, she closed his eyes, then pulled a blanket over his wound. The air was sluggish with heat and death, but Temujin found the smell no longer troubled him. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with his father’s essence as he too rose to his feet. He splashed water from the bucket onto his face and then rubbed it away with a scrap of clean cloth.

“I will go out and tell them,” he said.

His mother nodded, her eyes still fixed on a distant past as he walked to the small door and ducked out into the sharp air of the night.

* * *

T
he women of the families raised wailing voices to the sky father, so that he would hear a great man had passed from the plains. The sons of Yesugei gathered to pay their last respects to their father. When dawn came, they would wrap him in a white cloth and take him to a high hill, leaving his naked flesh to be taken into the hawks and vultures that were dear to the spirits. The arms that had taught them to draw a bow, the strong face, all of him would be torn into a thousand scraps to fly in hosts of birds under the sky father’s gaze. He would no longer be tied to the earth as they were.

As the night wound on, the warriors met in clusters, moving from ger to ger until all the families had spoken. Temujin did not take part in the process, though he wished Bekter were there to see the sky burial and the recitals. As much as he disliked his brother, he knew it would hurt him to have missed the stories and tales told of Yesugei’s life.

No one slept. As the moon rose, a great fire was built in the center of the encampment and old Chagatai the storyteller waited while they gathered, a skin of black airag ready against the cold. Only the scouting party and the lookouts remained on the hills. Every other man, woman and child came to hear and weep openly, giving Yesugei honor. They all knew that a tear shed into the ground would one day become part of the rivers that quenched the thirst of the herds and the families of all the tribes. There was no shame in weeping for a khan who had kept them safe through hard winters and made the Wolves a force on the plains.

Temujin sat alone at first, though many came to touch his shoulder and say a few quiet words of respect. Temuge was red-faced from crying, but he came with Kachiun and sat beside their brother, sharing their grief without words. Khasar too came to hear Chagatai and he was pale and wan as he embraced Temujin. The last to arrive was Hoelun, with her daughter Temulun asleep in the folds of her robe. She hugged her boys one after the other, then stared into the flames as if lost.

When the tribe were all there, Chagatai cleared his throat and spat into the roaring fire at his back.

“I knew the Wolf when he was a little boy and his sons and daughter were only dreams of the sky father. He was not always the man who led the families. When he was young, he crept into my father’s ger and stole a comb of honey wrapped in cloth. He buried the cloth, but he had a dog in those days, a hound of yellow and black. The animal dug up the cloth and brought it to him while he was in the middle of denying he had even known the honey was there. He did not sit for days afterwards!” Chagatai paused as the warriors smiled. “As a man, he led war parties after only twelve summers, raiding the Tartars again and again for ponies and sheep. When Eeluk wanted to take a bride, it was Yesugei who raided ponies to give to her father, bringing in three red mares and a dozen cattle from a single night. He had the blood of two men bright on his sword, but even then there were few who could match him with a blade or a bow. He was a scourge to that tribe, and when he was khan, they learned to fear Yesugei and the men who rode with him.”

Chagatai took a deep draft of the airag, smacking his lips.

“When his father was sky-buried, Yesugei gathered all the warriors and took them out for many days, making them live on just a few handfuls of food and barely enough water to wet the throat. All those who went on that trip came back with fire in their bellies and loyalty to him in their hearts. He gave them their pride and the Wolves grew strong and fat on mutton and milk.”

Temujin listened while the old man recited his father’s victories. Chagatai’s memory was still sharp enough to remember what had been said and how many had fallen to his father’s sword or bow. Perhaps the numbers were exaggerated, he did not know. The older warriors nodded and smiled at the memories, and as they emptied the skins of airag, they began to call out in appreciation as Chagatai painted the battles for them once more.

“That was when old Yeke lost three fingers from his right hand,” Chagatai continued. “It was Yesugei who found them in the snow and brought them back to him. Yeke saw what he was carrying and said they should be given to the dogs. Yesugei told him it would be better to tie them to a stick. He said he could still use them to scratch himself.”

Khasar chuckled at that, hanging on every word with his brothers. This was the history of their tribe, the stories of the men and women who made them who they were.

Chagatai’s manner changed subtly as he lowered the skin once more.

“He left strong sons to follow him, and he would have wanted Bekter or Temujin to lead the Wolves. I have heard the whispers in the families. I have heard the arguments and the promises, but the blood of khans runs in them and if there is honor in the Wolves, they should not shame their khan in death. He watches us now.”

The camp fell silent, though Temujin heard some of the warriors murmuring agreement. He felt a hundred eyes on him in the flame-lit darkness. He began to rise, but in the distance, they all heard the lookout horns sound mournfully over the hills, and the warriors snapped out of their drunken trance, rising quickly to their feet and shaking themselves to alertness. Eeluk appeared on the fringes of the light, gazing malevolently at Chagatai. Temujin saw that the storyteller looked frail and tired now that the spell was broken. A breeze blew his white hair back and forth as he faced Eeluk without a sign of fear. As Temujin watched, Eeluk nodded sharply as if something had been decided. The bondsman’s horse was brought to him and he mounted in one swift movement, riding out into the dark without looking back.

The horns ceased after only a short time when they realized it was the scouting party returning. Bekter came in at the head of a dozen warriors, riding up to the fire to dismount. Temujin saw they carried armor and weapons that were different from the ones he knew. In the light of the great fire, he saw rotting heads tied to Bekter’s saddle by their hair. Temujin shivered suddenly at the sight of the open mouths flopping as if they still cried out. Though the flesh was black and flyblown, he knew he was looking at the faces of those who had killed his father.

Only his mother had also heard Yesugei whisper the name of his enemy in the tent, and neither she nor Temujin had shared the information with any other. It was somehow chilling to hear the Tartars named again by the returning warriors. They held up bows and deels splashed with dried blood, and the families gathered around them in horrified fascination, reaching out to touch the rotting faces of the dead.

Bekter strode into the firelight as if the leadership of the tribe were already settled. It would once have been a bitter scene in Temujin’s imagination, but after his fears, he felt a savage pleasure. Let his brother take the tribe!

At first, the conversations were noisy and there were cries of shock at the description of what they had found. Five bodies lay rotting where they had ambushed the khan of Wolves. The gazes that fell on Yesugei’s sons were bright with awe. Yet they fell silent when Eeluk drew up, leaping lightly down from his saddle to face the brothers. With deliberate resolve, Temujin came to stand at Bekter’s shoulder and Khasar and Kachiun came with him. They faced Eeluk and waited for him to speak. Perhaps that was their mistake, for Eeluk was a powerful warrior and, next to him, they looked like the boys they were.

“Your father has gone at last, Bekter,” Eeluk said. “It was not an easy passing, but it is at an end.”

Bekter’s hooded eyes regarded his father’s bondsman, understanding the challenge and the danger. He raised his head and spoke, sensing he would never be stronger in his position than at that moment.

“I will be proud to lead the Wolves to war,” he said clearly.

Some of the warriors cheered him, but Eeluk shook his head slowly, his confidence cowing the few who had shown support. Silence came again and Temujin found himself holding his breath.

“I will be khan,” Eeluk said. “It is decided.”

Bekter reached for his sword and Eeluk’s eyes gleamed in pleasure. It was Temujin who gripped his brother’s arm first, though Kachiun was there almost as quickly.

“He will kill you,” Temujin said, as Bekter tried to free himself.

“Or I will kill him for the oath-breaking filth he is,” Bekter snapped in response.

Locked in their own struggle, neither of them had time to react as Eeluk drew his sword and used the hilt as a hammer, smashing Bekter off his feet. He and Temujin went down in a tangle of limbs, and Kachiun threw himself at their father’s bondsman unarmed, trying to stop him using the blade to kill his brothers. Hoelun cried out in fear behind them and the sound seemed to break through to Eeluk as he advanced, shaking Kachiun off with a flick of his arm. He glared at them all and then sheathed his sword.

“In honor to your father, I will not shed blood tonight,” he said, though his face was heavy with anger. He raised his head to have his voice carry. “The Wolves will ride! I will not stay where the blood of my khan stains the earth. Gather your herds and horses. As the sun reaches noon, we will travel south.”

He took a step closer to Hoelun and her sons.

“But not with you,” he said. “I will not watch my back for your knives. You will stay here and take your father’s body to the hills.”

Hoelun swayed slightly in the breeze, her face white and pinched. “You will leave us to die?”

Eeluk shrugged. “Die or live, you will not be of the Wolves. It is done.”

Chagatai loomed behind Eeluk then and Temujin saw the old man grip him by the arm. Eeluk raised his sword in reflex, but Chagatai ignored the bare blade so close to his face.

“This is an evil thing!” Chagatai said, angrily. “You dishonor the memory of a great man, left with no one to bring death to his killers. How will his spirit rest? You cannot leave his children alone on the plains. It is as bad as killing them yourself.”

“Get away, old man. A khan must make hard decisions. I will not shed the blood of children or women, but if they starve, my hands are clean.”