Empire of Silver (9 page)

Guyuk pulled away from him in the darkness and Ogedai heard his breathing grow harsh.

‘I am my
own
man,’ Guyuk said at last. ‘I am not some weaker branch of the line of Genghis,
or
you. You look for him in me? Well, stop it. You will not find him here.’

‘Guyuk…’ Ogedai began again.

‘I will go with Tsubodai, because he is riding as far away from Karakorum as anyone,’ his son replied. ‘Perhaps when I return, you will find something to like in me.’

The young man stalked off over the shining paths while Ogedai struggled with his temper. He had tried to impart a little advice and somehow the conversation had slipped from his control. On such a night, it was a bitter draught to take before sleep.

It was another two days of feasting and triumphs before Ogedai summoned his most senior men to the palace. They sat with bloodshot eyes, most of them still sweating from too much meat, airag and rice wine. Considering them, Ogedai saw they were almost a council of the sort the Chin lords used to rule their lands. Yet the final word was always with the khan. It could be no other way.

He looked down the table, past Chagatai, Tsubodai and his uncles, to Batu who had won in the horse races. Batu still glowed with the news that he would lead ten thousand and Ogedai smiled and nodded to him. He had placed good men in the new tuman, experienced warriors who would be able to guide Batu as he learned. Ogedai had done his best to honour Jochi’s memory, to right the sins of Genghis and Tsubodai. In face and gesture, the young man bore a strong resemblance to Jochi in his youth. In a moment or a glance, Ogedai could almost forget his brother had died years before. It hurt him every time it happened.

Across from Batu sat Guyuk, staring fixedly into space. Ogedai had not broken through the cool reserve his son had adopted since their words in the garden. Even as they sat at the table, Ogedai could not help wishing Guyuk had half the fire of Jochi’s boy. Perhaps Batu felt he had to prove himself, but he sat as a Mongol warrior, silent and watchful, filled with pride and confidence. Ogedai saw no sign that Batu was intimidated in that company, even among renowned leaders such as Chagatai, Tsubodai, Jebe and Jelme. The blood of Genghis ran in many of the men there and in their sons and daughters. It was a fruitful line and a strong one. His son would learn to be a man on the great trek, Ogedai was certain. It was a good beginning.

‘We have grown beyond the tribes my father knew, beyond a single encampment drifting across the plains.’ Ogedai paused and smiled. ‘We are too many now to graze in one place.’

He used words that tribal leaders had used for thousands of years, for when it came time to move on. Some of them nodded automatically and Chagatai thumped his fist on the table in approval.

‘Not all my father’s dreams will come true, though he dreamed of eagles. He would approve of my brother Chagatai ruling as khan in Khwarezm.’

Ogedai would have gone on, but Jelme reached out and
clapped Chagatai on the back, setting off a chorus of approval for the son of Genghis. Tsubodai inclined his head in silence, but even he did not stand apart from it. When the noise died down, Ogedai spoke again.

‘He would approve of the sacred homeland in the hands of my brother Tolui.’

It was Tsubodai who reached out and gripped the shoulder of the younger man, shaking him slightly to show his pleasure. Tolui beamed. He had known what was coming, but the reality of it brought joy. To him had fallen the mountains where their people had roamed for thousands of years, the sweet grass plains where their grandfather Yesugei had been born. Sorhatani and his sons would be happy there, safe and strong.

‘And you, brother?’ Chagatai said. ‘Where will you rest your head?’

‘Here in Karakorum,’ Ogedai replied easily. ‘This is my capital, though I will not rest here yet. For two years I have sent out men and women to learn about the world. I have welcomed scholars of Islam and priests of the Christ. I know now of cities where the slaves walk bare-breasted and gold is as common as clay.’

He smiled to himself at the images in his mind, but then his expression became stern. His eyes sought out Guyuk and held his gaze as he spoke.

‘Those who cannot conquer must bend the knee. They must find strength, or serve those of us who have. You are my generals. I will send you out: my hunting dogs, my wolves with iron teeth. When a city closes its gates in fear, you will destroy it. When they make roads and walls, you will cut them, pull down the stones. When a man raises a sword or bow against your men, you will hang him from a tree. Keep Karakorum in your minds as you go. This white city is the heart of the nation, but you are the right arm, the burning brand. Find me new lands, gentlemen. Cut a new path. Let their women weep a sea of tears and I will drink it
all.
’

‘He who controls the heartland controls the world.’

The palace gardens of Karakorum were still young. The Chin gardeners had done their best, but some of the plants and trees would take decades to reach their full growth.

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.