Casca 22: The Mongol (8 page)

Casca was not particularly concerned with Bolar Khan's threats. The dwarfish khan was just confused a bit, as he had every right to be.
"I am with the young master because it has to be that way. Don't ask me why. I couldn't answer it any more than our own son could. Perhaps as you said, he has a spell of sorts over me and our son. If that is so, we will not be the last. And lower your sword, Bolar Khan. You have no quarrel with me unless you wish the same quarrel with Chagar, for he also is Temujin's man now."

Bolar Khan lowered his sword. He was not certain that if Temujin gave the command that his son would not fight against him. It was a question he had no desire to put to the test. Perhaps this insanity would pass with a little time.
"Very well, for now I will leave things as they are and we shall ride to my camp. There, as you say, young Temujin, son of Yeshugei, we may learn more."

Barely controlling his rage, he yelled at his women.
"Ho, sluts, bind the wound of my son and gather our horses! We ride this instant!"

As the band moved out, Casca understood why the Tatars had wanted to take it so badly. Not only were there the women and mounts for riding, there were also five packhorses and two of the ugly, hairy double-humped camels of the north loaded with goods. Salt, bars of iron for the making of swords and arrowheads, bolts of Georgian wool, and the dozens of small things for which the men and women of his tribe had placed their orders.

Bolar had been trading. One of the things he had bought was the young girl, Bortei, who had castrated the Tatar. She was to be Chagar's first wife.

Buying wasn't exactly the right word, but it was close enough. Bolar had to pay a bride price to gain her for his son, and gain for himself Ashif Khan as a kinsman in the tribes of the Quonqurat. As for the other goods, he doubted that the Tatars knew what was in them, but anything that was transported to this remote area had to be of value.

It irked Casca a bit to see the women riding. They were all better horsemen than he was. Mongol women could ride nearly as well as their men. They proved this time and again as they crossed mountain ranges and rivers, places where Casca was not always successful in keeping his seat. Twice he fell off during river crossings to the Mongols' great amusement, and they had obvious contempt for one who rode as poorly as he. Bolar couldn't see what even Temujin would want with a man who could not stay on his horse.

Temujin wasted no time. Every minute they were together alone, he made Casca teach him. But this was always done out of earshot of the others. Temujin guarded his new knowledge as a miser does his gold or an old man a young wife.

"So, Old Young One. Let me see if I understand correctly. There are similarities between the empires of the Chin and those of the West with one exception. The Chin have very seldom gone outside their own borders. They do not seem to have a lust for conquest.

"The Romans, on the other hand, were much more aggressive but were able to keep control of their empire with relatively few warriors. Now how was this done?"

Casca rocked in his saddle as his beast made a small jump over a log. Regaining his balance, he answered a bit irritably, for he thought his horse was trying to humiliate him again. This made him touchy, for he was certain the animal had done it on purpose. The log was not that big. The horse could have just stepped over it.

"Well, Temujin, the one thing Rome did right was not to fuck excessively with the occupied countries. By that I mean that they did not try to change too many customs. They left the different people's religions alone and even adopted many of the different gods themselves.

"There were temples to Egyptian, Persian, and Greek gods in Rome itself. Second, they made Roman law apply to everyone equally. Of course, we know that nothing is ever truly equal. But in most cases it was more fair than the occupied people's own systems. Then, of course, the occupied people
could become Roman citizens with all the rights of such. And we have had emperors who were born in the provinces. From Spain, Africa, and Gaul.

"Of all the things you may learn, one of the most important is to make an empire where all that you conquer or who submit to you feel they have become part of your empire and are the better for your coming.

"If you fail to do this, you will have only two choices: You will be emperor of a desert filled with nothing but the dead; or you will always be enemies within your empire, which one day will rise against you.

"Make your laws but make certain they apply to everyone. Religion, tribe, or nation should make no difference. Make all that you meet a part of you, and you will be the greater for it.  Secure lines of communication, tax fairly, make punishment sure and certain, as well as reward. Do this, and who knows, you might become one of the Great Ones. Fail to do this and your memory will turn to dust, as will your bones and all that you build."

Temujin frowned a bit, wrinkling his face in the process.  “If Rome did all these things, then why has the empire fallen apart?"

"Good question. Rome rotted from the inside out. Most of the things I told you took place in the early centuries of the republic. Later the leaders became corrupt, decadent. One faction against the other. There was no continuity of leadership. A great man would be followed by a fool who was only a tool used by the ambitious for their own enrichment or power. Laws did not apply to the powerful, only to the weak.

"Rome no longer advanced and didn't take enough people into her system. Too many barbarians guarded the frontiers but were not part of Rome. They took what they learned and returned to their people with that knowledge, and it was to kill Rome later.

"The people lost faith, and Romans no longer wished to serve in the legions. They relied on mercenaries who had no loyalty to the empire.

"But remember, even with these corruptions, the foundation the Republic built was strong enough so that the empire lasted more than six hundred years, and even today the remnant of it exists in Constantinople, and may yet survive for some centuries to come. But I doubt it, for the eastern empire is even more corrupt than the western one was."

Temujin nodded his head. "What you say makes sense. If I have only my own people at the head and only enemies for my body, the head will surely fall."

Proudly he drew himself up, sticking out his skinny chest. "When I take power, I shall do these things. Of course, they will have to be modified a bit, for mine are a savage and primitive people. I will have to do things in such a manner that they understand, for such things as philosophy and justice have never entered their heads. Rape, war, and plunder they understand.

"The other processes may take a bit of time, and some examples will have to be made to make certain they understand my laws perfectly. To insure this I will make a book of laws, a Yasa. In that
book will be listed crimes and their punishments. The law will apply to all, regardless of tribe or religion. The law will be the law."

Casca nodded his head, smiling bitterly.
"We shall see, young master. Many others have begun with good ideas and intentions. True men of honor and courage. But power corrupts. Few have ever escaped the fear and insecurity that comes with power. Kings fear those of their own loins and blood. They hear whispers, have dishonest councillors who lie to them for their purposes. It is not enough that the kings must be above corruption – so must their advisers and generals be."

Casca had his doubts. Temujin was something exceptional – that was certainly true. But his savage heritage was what bothered Casca. How much would it influence him? He had once asked Temujin a hypothetical question about tactics. What would he do if he had plunged deep into a hostile land for a long-term campaign and during the campaign he brought a city under siege? What would be his actions in the event of a strong defense against him, and what would he do once the city was taken?

Temujin had said, "First I will ask them to submit to me. If they do this, then I will spare all and take only the goods and gold I need and, as you said, make them part of my body. If they resist me, then I shall destroy them completely. Every living thing within those walls shall perish."

Temujin had pronounced this as if it were already a fact. The answer didn't really surprise Casca. After all, he had seen the handiwork of another from the steppes, Attila.
"Do you mean even the children, too, Temujin? Would you kill them also?"

Temujin had looked at him as if he were a fool.
"Of course. What do you think I am? If I kill all the adults, the children will have no family to care for them. Do you think I would leave them to die a slow, terrible death by starvation? Of course they have to die – it is the only merciful thing to do. Obviously in the middle of a campaign I cannot stop the war and provide for thousands of children. Killing them is the only way to be merciful. Of course, I am speaking of extreme circumstances. There may be times when I can take them into my body and make them part of me. If it is possible to do so, then I will, as long as it would not jeopardize the campaign."

Casca had a hard time trying to find a reasonable response to Temujin's answer. In the end he found none. There was a certain mad logic to it, if Temujin kept his word. The example of a few cities being utterly destroyed would probably influence many more to open their gates to him and lose only their gold. This would reduce casualties on both sides. He pushed away the doubt that if and when Temujin took to the field he would not do exactly as he said.

The boy was such a conflict of different terms and reasoning. Casca doubted that he would ever understand him completely, and all he could do was to advise and possibly guide some of Temujin's thinking processes. Not that he was even very certain he could do that.

Temujin listened to him, took all the information that he had, and stored it in his vast warehouse of memory, but how he would use it was something that Casca couldn't answer or forecast. Temujin was in the growing process; what he would finally become was beyond his powers to speculate.

He had said to Temujin, "Perhaps that is why I will never be, and could never be, a conqueror. A good fight I like, but I have no ambitions so strong that I could kill a child for them."

Temujin took his words seriously, though he didn't understand completely.
"What is this thing you have about the difference in a life that is young or one that is old? Death comes to all, some sooner than others. It is the natural course of things. It is a force of nature not to be denied, as I am a force of nature and I will not be denied. I will do that which is in my nature to do, for that is natural also." He looked at Casca with no understanding or compassion in his grayish eyes. "You are right, Old Young One. You have learned many things in the years of your life, however many they be, I do not know. You have had great adventures and experiences. You have much knowledge but not the will to use it.

"You are right. You have not the soul of a conqueror. You will always be what you are. A soldier whom others will use to their glory and not yours. You are a solider, and that is what you will always be and no more."
With that Temujin had shut him out.

Bolar watched the two talking. There was something strange about both of them, though not in the same way. Temujin had something Bolar recognized when he saw it, or perhaps "felt it" was a better way to say it. He felt something in the young warrior, not to the degree that Chagar did. But there was something there. A power, a magnetism. But he was old and he had met others who had that feel to them. They made no difference to him. He had his own people to lead.

He was not ambitious. He was content with what he had and he would not let anyone take that away from him. Those who dream of great power usually die very young. Perhaps this Temujin, son of Yeshugei, would also die young.

It was Chagar who saw them first. A band of eight riders heading for them across a yellow plain of short grass. Bolar cursed himself for his weakening eyes. Even a year ago he would have seen the riders before his son. Temujin and Casca started to draw weapons but were waved down by Bolar.
"Peace, these are of my tribe. I keep warriors posted at all times on the approaches to my lands. We are close now. A few more hours ride and we will be at my camp by the River Shamiq. There we will rest and learn more of each other."

It was with joy that Chagar rode ahead of them to greet his fellow warriors. Shouting and waving, he whipped his horse on a cloud of dust, rising behind him as he rode out. Bolar watched him with pride and some vague feelings of unease. His son had always been good and loyal to him.

Now he did not know. It was confusing. He was not one for complicated plots and schemes. A simple life was all that he asked for, and now, with the coming of these strangers, he felt himself being drawn into something that was beyond his grasp. He did not like it. True, it was that he probably owed them his life and the lives of those in his party, including his son. But he had not asked them to interfere, yet he had made them a promise. "To the death," he had said.

By the time they reached Chagar and the outriders, Chagar had obviously explained to them all that happened. He had removed from a sack one of the Tatar heads for their approval, and Casca could tell from his hand gestures and the way they were laughing how his wife-to-be had deballed her victim. Therefore they were in a great and good mood when Temujin and he reached them.

Bolar silenced their laughter quickly and demanded from them if they had seen or heard of any other incursions by the Tatars or other tribes into his lands. A great shaking of heads and denial comforted him little.

"Leave three men behind to watch. The rest will escort us to the camp."

The tribesmen snapped to. Obviously Bolar ran things with a firm hand.

When they had ridden four more hours, Casca saw lying in a green valley the camp of Bolar: yurts of felt and tepee structures of animal skins stretched out along the bank of a rushing white-water river twenty meters wide, which was fed by melted snow from the mountains. The campsite was good. The goats and horses grazing along the banks under the watchful eye of children were fat and healthy. Smoke from the campfire rose easily to the clear skies, to be blown away by the stronger winds that washed over the mountains sheltering the camp. Bolar moved to the head of the band, ignoring the look from Temujin, which seemed to indicate the young man thought he should have been at the forefront.